


Supernatural: Assault on Star's Hollow

by zsadist7



Category: Gilmore Girls, Supernatural, Supernatural/Gilmore Girls crossover
Genre: Crossover, Funny, Other, Violent, deranged
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 07:26:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11709666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zsadist7/pseuds/zsadist7
Summary: When Sam goes missing for three months, Dean enters Star's Hollow, the ninth ring of Hell, to pull him out, finding help along the way from some of the towns inhabitants.





	Supernatural: Assault on Star's Hollow

Supernatural: Assault on Star's Hollow  
By J Orion Liptak (Publisher's note: My husband wrote this. And he's insane.)

 

Chapter 1

Nobody ever expected anything truly troubling to occur in Star's Hollow.

Then again, nothing of interest ever really happened in Star's Hollow. The small, serene town's leadership always tried to organize festive celebrations, annual gatherings, and little traditions. Kirk, the town weirdo, was always up to some sort of hijinx that could temporarily cure one's boredom. If you needed to sit a spell or get out of the cold, then a warm cup of coffee, tasty sandwich, and surly disposition always met you at Luke's Diner. Travel weary guests with a little scratch could stay at the cozy Dragonfly Inn and help themselves to gourmet meals cooked by Star's Hollow's own all star chef, Sookie St. James.

Dean Forester knew all of this very well. He spent his entire teen and adult life in Star's Hollow, a stark contrast to his native Chicago. He watched it grow from a sleepy hamlet in Connecticut to a small town bustling with people and light tourism. Weird, grouchy people whose demeanor is just a step above a middle school drama club. Dean found his first love in Star's Hollow, his first heartbreak, and eventually, his first wife. The ups and downs in Dean's life were nothing like the flat planes, rounding streets, and strict architectural purity of his hometown. As much trouble as Dean has experienced in his relatively peaceful life, his troubles were inconsequentially smaller than most folks. No, the real trouble began when Dean ran into Rory one cold, grey afternoon at the Dragonfly Inn. 

Rory. What could be said about Rory? Her hair, brown like poop. But healthy poop. Not that dark stuff you drop after eating Memphis barbecue. Looking at her hair, smelling it, reminded Dean of poop. But in a good way. It was a very confusing feeling he got, but one that kept him entranced in her almost lifeless gaze. When Dean looked into Rory's eyes, he had to cross his eyes inward to be able to stare into the abyss. It was intimidating taking Rory's entire face in. Her doe-like features ended with a tiny little mouth that most men fought off a very powerful urge to punch. Rory, like her mother, had a fire within her, almost dark, and the words that came from that tiny little punching mouth had a biting sting whenever the mood became too intense, or when Rory was just bored. Her skin was like a porcelain doll, ready to be shattered if even the slightest bit of emotion just shy of a wry smile was to creep across her pale face. What many saw to be an innate selfishness, Dean saw a strong, self serving woman who would alter the world around her to fit her own narrative, never once letting anything or anyone tell her otherwise. It was truly a turn on. When Rory came into the picture, Dean was at once rendered helpless to her small town charms, crippling intellect, and frail, petite figure.

It was difficult to see Rory again. After all, it was she who was his first love. She who broke his heart in favor of some dipshit with Wolverine hair who wore a leather jacket and drove a piece of shit car, like he was some kind of bad boy. Who tried entirely too hard to act like he was a bad ass when everybody knew what a raging pussy he really was. Everybody except for naive teenage girls. Everybody except Rory. It was she who wormed her way back into Dean's life after he married a woman he did not love. She who seduced him into a doomed second attempt at a relationship. A relationship as temporary as the first. A relationship that toppled his entire life, a life seemingly held under the curse of her spell. The spell of Rory Gilmore. A spell that tangled Dean in a brush of thorny vines and sweet roses.

He saw her. He tried to look away. Tried with all of his might. At 6'4" with a solid build, this should have been no difficult task. Rory's spell dropped upon him like gravity, grounding him to Star's Hollow, his body malleable to her every whim. Lorelai. Rory's mother. The Dragonfly's owner. Why did she call him? Him, of all people, of all the times to need a helping hand? Dean needed the money. He always needed the money. No matter how many jobs Dean worked, there was always the need for money. In a way, Lorelai held almost as tight of a grip over Dean as her daughter. Did she plan this? Was this all set up on purpose? It couldn't be a coincidence. Was this somehow a coldly calculated serendipity? Dean thought of all the other times that things just fell into place in his life. In Star's Hollow. Every time he happened to run into Rory. 

Rory. Her named burned inside of him like Hellfire. How could something so sweet cause him such turmoil, and yet such rapture? He looked up at her, and her eyes locked with his. Even at this distance, Dean's eyes crossed like a Taiwanese hookers, and he suddenly fell into the hypnotic whirlpool of her eyes. Her mouth, like the beak of a newborn chicken, pursed open and it was like Dean was hearing sound for the first time. "Oh, hey Dean."

Dean's heart sank into his knees. His posture drooped, as if the strength was ripped from his very soul and displayed before him, taunting him, daring him to resist the spell. A smile spread across his face. A dopey grin used by dogs when they haven't seen their master all day, and it feels like years. Sheepishly, Dean tried to turn his head away, but the magnetism of Rory's innocent charm held a stranglehold over his broad neck. As if audibly crippled, Dean could only say one word.

"Rory."

That name! Not so much spoken, but exhaled, as if the air was being taken from his lungs, and there was only one way to put it to good use. Rory. The reason air was invented. To say that name, to spread it amongst the populace like a zombie virus. Dean would repeat the name infinitely if common sense didn't kick in, narrowly avoiding all of Star's Hollow thinking he was shit-house crazy.

"What are you doing here?", she said, adjusting her book bag so it didn't slide off of her bony shoulders. Her inquisitive gaze was as haunting as it was sincere. You couldn't tell by the complete lack of emotion in her voice, or the slack jawed way her mouth gaped open, but she really did want to know.

"Dean is helping me move some things." said Lorelai. "Isn't he sweet?" Lorelai grinned and shuffled past. A much fuller woman than her daughter, Lorelai Gilmore was what the town of Star's Hollow called a "raging MILF." Despite the goopy eye makeup, Bugs Bunny face, and annoying penchant for never shutting the fuck up, they were right. Lorelai had a way of bringing out the conversationalist in Rory. When they spoke to each other, it was almost as if they had pre scripted dialogue. Lines that they had memorized and had to recite as fast as possible without interrupting each other or pausing. A steady flow of wordafterwordafterword. Dean found the entire ordeal to be hypnotic.

"Mom, don't you have Inn stuff to do?"  
"I'm in the Inn crowd"  
"Those pants are so Inn."  
"These pants?"  
"Yes, those pants."  
"I do wear the pants."  
"Only when your not in the living room."  
"I do what I want in my house."  
"But what would the neighbors think?"  
"Mrs. Greggs across the street walks around topless."  
"Too gross, too old, too droopy"  
"Ours are perfect."  
"Because we're Gilmore's?"  
"Because we're Gilmore's."

Dean couldn't tell if it was quirky or annoying, but he stared dumbfounded until they stopped. Blinking in a confused stupor, his vision once again focused on Rory. Forgetting why he was even there in the first place, Dean smiled.

"Well, I've gotta go now. It was great seeing you, Rory." And it was. Greater than anything that had ever happened to him at that point, and greater than anything that ever would.

"Bye, Dean." Rory's innocent voice squeaked out a world shattering goodbye. Why? Why did he have to leave so soon? Why did he have to rush to get to his next job? What is this life?!

Dean descended down the steps of the Dragonfly Inn and along the path to his truck. The cold air bit into him like a crisp apple. His breath swayed in the frosty air. It was almost Thanksgiving, and he knew that when he drove into the town square, he would be greeted with the familiar sights of Kirk selling turkey hats, Luke sweeping the front stoop of his diner and muttering death threats under his breath, and Taylor, the town Selectman, would be bitching two inches away from somebody who was achieving sexual arousal at the thought of hitting him in the God damned throat with a baseball bat. What Dean did not expect when he drove his pickup truck into the town's square was the stranger. 

The stranger in the beautiful, sleek, jet black 1967 Chevy Impala.

 

CHAPTER 2  
There was something in the air.

There was something in the air, and Luke Danes could feel it. Smell it. It was a foul odor, one he had not smelled before. There was something in the air, and Luke Danes had finally had enough.

What is the exact price for peace and quiet, Luke wondered? What must a man, a simple, yet rustic man, do to have a slice of content in this world? Was it this world? Or was it this town? Star's Hollow. The very name denoted a heavenly peace, and yet also an emptiness. So why didn't Luke feel at peace? Was he therefore empty? His heart should be filled with joy. The joy of being your own boss, and your own man. Of deciding your own destiny, your own path forward. Instead, the town Selectman can't wait to thrust himself into Luke's face, blathering on and on about the next crisis hitting the town that is entirely Luke's fault, like how Luke should celebrate Christmas by bedazzling his nutsack with candy cane lights, or how Luke's truck is an eyesore during the Daisy Festival. No matter how much he helped, Luke reminisced, he never received even a shred of appreciation.

As Luke paced around outside his diner, the cold air unable to cool his hot temper and homicidal tendencies, his thoughts turned to his seething bitch of a wife, Lorelai. Lorelai. Whom he pined after and chased down after hearing a subliminal brain washing tape that was being marketed as "self help." Lorelai, who contstantly treats herself to free donuts and coffee, as if she owns the place. Whose problems are always dragged out and exaggerated as if they're the worst problems in the world, and she's the only one who experiences them. Lorelai. Who can suck a dick like 10 pornstars combined into one. The woman the whole town wants, but won't admit it. Shouldn't he be greatful? Greatful to that horse faced MILF and her mouthy, entitled daughter? And their rapid fire conversations? And their inability to shut the fuck up for five seconds anytime they watch a movie together? And the double standard anytime that Luke asked what the fuck was going on?

Luke Danes had finally had enough.

Realizing the fuckwit he hired as his new waiter was probably jacking off in the chili again (a seemingly compulsive act and not malicious in nature), Luke entered his Diner, this time a new man. The sights and sounds and smells that were once familiar to him now seemed foreign. The warming atmosphere after stepping out of the frigid cold of Star's Hollow in November was strikingly unnoticeable. Today, Luke Danes was a new man, and he finally had it with everybody's bullshit.

Luke stormed into the diner and headed directly for the prep room. His customers, normally used to the fuming, bearded restaurateur, were taken aback at the fresh fury that blew past them. Like a maelstrom on path to level a town, there was something new in Luke's eyes, and therefore something new in Star's Hollow. Luke, with the keen senses of a skilled hunter, made a beeline for the chili pot. Today's chili was a three bean chili that had been simmering for 10 hours, and was made with ground venison and seasoned with the secret mix of spices, herbs, and flavors that Luke's customers had come to know and love. As predicted, Wesley, the new waiter, was jacking it into the chili pot. Luke had hired Wesley out of mere desperation. The entirety of Star's Hollow was filled with absolute wastes of life. Complete pieces of shit that set the human race back to the days of clubbing a woman over the head and dragging her into your cave. And Luke valued his chili more than he valued Wesley.

"What are you doing, you little asshole?" Luke growled. Before getting the answer he so desperately didn't give a shit enough to hear, his hand reached for the meat cleaver he kept on the wall. It glistened in the dim light of the prep room. Through the smells of meat, fresh vegetables, and coffee, all Luke knew was a wall of white hot rage, blinding him to everything good in the world.

"Uuuuhhhh..." said Wesley, mouth gaping open, barely showing much sign of life. Luke stared into his empty eyes, finding no particular reason inside of them to spare his life long enough to form his first thought. Luke quickly grabbed Wesley and cut his pecker clean off of his torso. Wesley let out a scream, however no sound came out. The sheer shock of looking down and seeing his severed dick in Luke's hand was enough to send him into an absolute mental breakdown. Like a child getting the wind knocked out of him on the playground, Wesley was gasping for air enough to let out one tiny yelp. But nobody would hear him. Not before Luke ripped his underwear out of his pants and stuffed them down Wesley's piddling throat.

"You like that, you little fucker?" snarled Luke, slapping Wesley over the face with his own penis. "I just did the world a favor" As Luke scolded Wesley over the nose with his own dong, like a newspaper on a dog, he allowed his words to punctuate each blow.

"You!" WHACK! "Do not!" WHACK! "Need!" WHACK! "To Reproduce!" WHACK! 

"FUCKER!!!" WHACK!

Luke tossed the penis in the sink, grabbed Wesley by the back of the hair and dragged his bitch ass over to the stove. The cook, Cesar, was on his break and forgot to turn the heat down. Hot air wafted up from the steel like a mirage on a hot sidewalk. Luke was done talking. Done discussing his feelings. It was time to beat some ass. Luke shoved Wesley's face on the grill. Wesley's cheek meat sizzled, the smell of long pig immediately filling the air. Unable to scream, and realizing he was too weak willed to face the awesome power that was his boss, Wesley looked up with a sad desperation, his eyes apologizing for his actions without acknowledging what he had done wrong. His last hope in appealing to Luke's merciful side having failed him, Wesley gave a look of reserved acceptance as Luke smashed his face into the scalding hot stove and left him for dead on the kitchen floor. Cesar would clean it up later. He had better clean it up.

Before returning to the prep room, Luke turned the garbage disposal on in the sink. Chunks of pecker flesh whizzed through the air, splattering against the wall.  
Luke breathed heavily. No remorse. No regret. Nothing filled him but pure satisfaction. He looked around the prep room. No witnesses. He cautiously peaked his head around the corner of the prep room, into the dining room. The customers all quietly enjoyed their lunches, sipped their coffees, and overall had no idea that a man just got beaten half to death with his own tallywhacker. Luke composed himself, then looked back at Wesley, laying on the floor in a pool of his own death. 

"What a jack off."

The bell of the diner rang, signaling a new patron. Luke walked slowly to the dining room, grabbing the coffee carafe on his way. It was finally going to happen. Some smug bastard was finally going to get boiling hot coffee thrown in their face. Luke put on his best impression of a smile and walked out to offer coffee to his guests. He looked to the bar, and saw an unfamiliar face sitting there. Strangers were not a common sight in Star's Hollow, and those who were tourists usually found themselves at the Dragonfly Inn. Owned by Luke's horrible bitch of a wife. As thoughts of sexually humiliating Lorelai flashed in his head, Luke approached the stranger from behind the bar.  
"What can I get you today?" Luke said, trying his best to fit in and act normally.

"Hi there. Lovely day, isn't it?" Said the stranger.

Luke hated small talk. Especially the kind of small talk that did not even have the veneer of bullshit that we all come to expect. "Nice day? I'm freezing my nuts off and I can't see anything. Cloudy and cold. What do you want?"

The stranger drummed his hands playfully on the counter. "I'd like a coffee please, sugar and cream." The stranger smiled at Luke, unaware that Luke was currently fantasizing about taking a dump on his face. 

"Yeah, coming right up." Luke was about to turn around and grab the carafe when he realized he already had his combat pot, ready to splash some joe in the next face that perturbed him. Luke calmly poured the coffee into a cup and turned around to prepare the sugar and cream.

"Beautiful town you got here." The stranger grinned. turning his head left and right to take in the environment, the friendly and well built man looked like he could be a marine. Hair cropped short in the back, rigid posture. Luke fought back the urge to say something snide and shitty, instead opting to finish preparing the strangers' coffee.

"I suppose. What brings you around here?" Said Luke.

"I'm looking for somebody. My brother, actually." The stranger pulled a picture out of his brown leather jacket and showed it to Luke. "Do you know this guy?"

Luke looked at the picture. "Huh. I didn't know Dean had a brother."

"Uh, no. I'm Dean."

Luke assumed that Lorelai must be pulling a prank on him, and started plotting a way to convince Kirk to tag team her in bed later. Luke pointed at the picture. "No, that's Dean. He's lived here for years. Who the Hell are you?"

"How long have you lived here?" Asked the stranger. He put the picture back in his jacket, but kept his hand there. Luke, noticing this, tightened his grip around the coffee carafe, ready to sling hot coffee into the strangers handsome face.

"That's none of your damn business, stranger! And if you're here looking for Dean, you're shit out of luck! Dean's a good kid, he doesn't need some lame ass walking around looking for--"

"LUUUKKE!!!"

The bell on the diner door rang. The stranger spun around in his seat, and Luke diverted his gaze to the door. Taylor, the town's Selectman, barged into the diner. 

"Oh, for Christ's sake, Taylor, what the Hell is it now?!" Luke yelled, exasperated. He knew it. Right then and there, Luke knew that Taylor would be the first one to taste hot coffee. 

"You do not have any Thanksgiving decorations outside of your diner! We expect, as your patrons, that you have the exact same level of interaction with our booming tourism industry--"

Fuck this, thought Luke. Fuck. This.

*SKSH!*

Steam rose off of Taylor's now scalded face, hot joe dripping down his neck. Taylor screamed and writhed around the diner, clutching his ugly, beaded face. The other patrons stood up in shock and horror, dishes and silverware clattering down to the ground. Taylor's screams echoed off the dining room walls, and The Stranger pulled out a modified Colt 1911 .40 handgun. Luke held up his weapon of mass destruction, ready to fling hot justice in the strangers' face. He stopped when he realized that the stranger was pointing the gun at Taylor.

"'Whoa, whoa! Put the gun away, son!" Said Luke. 

"What have you done, and where the Hell is my brother?" Asked the stranger.

"Look, I'm tellin' ya, that guy's name is Dean. So either your parents are cruel to name you both Dean, or that isn't your brother." Luke was growing impatient. It was coffee time.

A strange wind blew in to the diner, despite the door being closed. Napkins and various other papers flew about, and the tablecloths swayed violently. The lights flickered and the room shook. The diners all gazed in horrific fright as Taylor, his face burned, rose up from the ground with pure blackness in his eyes.

"I know a Winchester when I see one!" screamed Taylor. "And you!" He pointed to Luke. "I'll deal with you later! You will put up the turkey decorations, or face a painful and humiliating death!"

Dean pulled a small vial out of his jacket and tossed it to Luke. "Quick, pour this into the coffee!" 

"What? No. I'm not gonna put anything in the coffee." Protested Luke.

"Just do it!" Screamed the stranger. Demon Taylor lunged forward and grabbed the stranger by the throat, lifting him a foot off the ground. Luke poured the mysterious liquid into the coffee, and threw it in Taylor's face.

*SKSH!*

Taylor screamed in pain, the sound so ear piercing that it shattered the glass of the diner. Luke threw up his hands. "Awh, son of a bitch." He exclaimed. Taylor dropped the stranger and curled up into a wisp of smoke and sulfur, floating out of one of the broken windows. "What the Hell is going on?!" Yelled Luke, who was realizing more and more that he was out of his league, and perhaps this may be God's way of punishing him for the Wesley thing. The stranger turned and pointed the gun at Luke, cocking the hammer back. Realizing that he was out of hot coffee, Luke slowly raised his hands to shoulder level. "Whoa... Take it easy, soldier." 

The stranger fired a shot.

The bullet whizzed right past Luke's ear, piercing a freshly risen and dickless Wesley in the forehead. Wesley flew back into the prep room, exploding onto a plume of ashes. Luke turned to see the outcome, then quickly whipped himself forward to face the stranger.

"All right, I need you to listen to me." The stranger pulled the picture from his jacket again. "My name is Dean Winchester. This is my brother Sam. And I'm here to take him home."  
Dean Winchester looked past Luke at the limp and lifeless body of Wesley, his pants down around his ankles and his wang severed at the base. "What the Hell did you do to that guy? Are you psychotic?"

Luke dropped the coffee carafe. "Welcome to Star's Hollow."

 

Chapter 3  
At least the ride in was pleasant.

Dean Winchester mulled the last three months over and over in his head as he drove along the quiet, winding roads of Northeast Pennsylvania. The cold air and leafless trees were betrayed by the warmth of light emanating from the sun. None of this phased Dean, who had traveled the entire country back and forth with his brother for almost his entire life. Who, barring a period of four years where his brother left the family business to go to college, knew his younger sibling as both friend and partner. His brother. Sam. Missing three months. Their business? Whooping ass. Hunting monsters. And looking awesome doing it.

Three months. It all seemed like eons ago that Sam left Dean. Again. The same argument they had been having on and off for the better part of a year. John Winchester. Practically attached at the hip to Dean. One day, he up and vanished. On one of his "hunting trips." Why hadn't he taken Dean? Did he not need him anymore? Or did he just not trust he could handle what came next? Dean was there that fateful night. Present in the room when his mother was nailed to the ceiling, blood dripping to the floor, and set aflame. His earliest memories before his dad swore to find the yellow eyed son of a bitch that did it. And Sam? Just a baby. Dean remembered. Being a child, playing outside, anticipating his first day of school. But the hunter's life was all Sam had known. It's no wonder he left John and Dean to go to college. Make friends. Fall in love. Only to find his love's fate tied to his own mother's.

Dean hugged a curve in his 1967 Chevy Impala. For Dean, these quiet rides were not breaks from his chaotic life of slaying demons, investigating murders, and dealing with the supernatural overall. These long drives were a time of tortured reflection. There was no rest. No time away from the hunt. It was always the hunt. Always sniffing, always peering through the darkness. Dean had dealt with ghosts before. Ghosts on bridges, ghosts trapped in objects, ghosts haunting houses and cars. But he could never face his own ghosts. No. Had to keep driving. Keep turning. Had to outrun those ghosts. There was no hunting them. No destroying. These ghosts, Dean had to live with. Had to harbor these ghosts, so that Sam wouldn't.

Three months.

Three months since Sam stormed out. Two months and twenty nine days since Dean met with Bobby to find Sam. Bobby. Sam and Dean's guardian. Like a surrogate father when their absentee pop would go hunting alone. Bobby knew everything. Taught them everything. And somehow, he was still teaching them.

Three months. Nothing.

"Boy, it's your fault he left! You're supposed to be looking after your brother!" Snapped Bobby.

"You know how Sam is, Bobby. He comes and goes from the business as he pleases, and then he comes right back once he's cooled off. It's not my job to reel him in whenever he starts wanting to go off the rails!" Dean paced back and forth, his boots scraping the gravel beneath him.

"Well, you're finding yourself having to go after him now! Your brother's gone off the grid, Dean. Three months is a long time! Too damn long! The chance that he's doing just fine on his own out there is getting slimmer by the minute! If you had been doing your duty as his older brother--" Dean interrupted Bobby.

"He left us! Just like dad did!"

The silent tension could be sliced in two with safety scissors. Jon died years ago. Would Sam share his father's fate? Dean was right. As much as Sam himself would hate to admit it, he was very much like his father. And Dean knew it. The agitation Dean felt at this moment stemmed more from his own frustrations with his father's sudden death than it did from the panic that had been hovering over him for the last three months. Was he actually alone in all of this now? The severity of the situation soon returned to the two hunters, and Bobby composed himself, remembering that he was talking to his boy. A hot headed, worried young man who just wanted to see his brother safe. "I've done some digging of my own while you've been out there. I've found something that may lead us on the right path."

"What is it?" Asked Dean. His demeanor was simmering, however his patience was wearing thin. Why would Bobby just be bringing this up now?

Bobby took a sip of whiskey and handed his bottle of Jack Daniels to Dean, who took a big gulp. "I've got friends, Dean. Friends I don't talk about, not even to you or your brother. Can't compromise them. These friends are in very high places in the government and security sectors. They have certain resources. Difficult as it is to get them to do me a favor what with the increased scrutiny on you and your brother, I convinced them to help me track Sam with facial recognition software. Under the guise that they are investigating the last known whereabouts of the Winchester Boys."

"Why the Hell did you do that, Bobby?" Dean was stunned. "Does that mean the FBI is looking for us?" Had Bobby jeopardized the entire mission?

"You think you're the only one worried about Sam, boy? I told you, his chances of surviving are getting slimmer and slimmer out there. I did what had to be done. But it's not as cut and dry as you may think. They scoured social media accounts, public records, all kinds of little nooks and crannies. And they found this. Just this."

Bobby held up a laptop with an image of what appeared to be Sam at a younger age. Standing next to him was a small, frail teenage girl with brown hair and a tiny little mouth. They were smiling, and standing in front of a sign for Star's Hollow High School, Sam's arm wrapped firmly around the girl's brittle shoulders.

"What is this?" Asked Dean. "He's gotta be sixteen in that picture. When the Hell did this ever happen?"

"I don't know, Dean." Replied Bobby. "The banner in the picture says it's an event at this school taking place in 2001. But this picture? My friends say it's only about three months old. There's other pictures, too. From Yale. From this town. All with the same girl. And Sam just keeps getting older and older in each one."

The impact hit Dean like a swift sucker punch to the jewels. What was Sam doing in this picture? And at such a young age, no less? Was he aging rapidly? What kind of trouble did he find himself getting into?

"Bobby, tell me everything you know about this place."

Dean snapped back to reality, right on time to swerve and avoid hitting a deer. He brought the Impala to a grinding halt, just before going over a guard rail and off a cliff. Knowing what he knew, Dean couldn't believe that was a mere coincidence. Something did not want him to make it to his destination. Was the deer a warning? He stepped out of the car and looked around for the deer. No sign of tracks, no fur, no blood, no noise. No noise. Absolutely nothing but the air around him. If he screamed right now, nobody would hear him. This was a vacuum of reality itself. If he continued on, he would cease to exist in his own plane of reality. He would delve deep into what the ancients used to call "The Void."  
Dean had done his homework. Stalked his prey, just like any good hunter. Found his hunting grounds. He looked down upon it, like a predator preparing for the kill.

Star's Hollow, CT. The ninth ring of Hell. First stop: A pleasant enough little diner called Luke's.

At least the ride in was pleasant.

 

Chapter 4  
Wesley was dead as fuck.

That much was certain to Luke Danes. What was not quite as obvious is who this Dean Winchester was, what was in the vial of liquid he gave him, and why Taylor fled the diner in an ethereal wisp after having the mystery liquid-laced hot coffee splashed in his face. Luke couldn't help but beam with pride at that one. After all, Taylor was a pain in the ass from day one. High maintenance, pussy footing around, prying into everybody's affairs. What a severe asshole.

Luke looked back at Wesley from the bar, dickless, pants around his ankles, and dead as fuck. What could have possessed him to murder somebody? In his own diner? Luke was known to be a grouchy man, sure, but murder? Not in his M.O. If the movies he tries to watch while his vapid wife Lorelai blathers on and on because she thinks she's funny were any indication, Taylor and Wesley were both possessed by some kind of demonic force. Was Luke possessed too? Cursed with a homicidal streak that knew no end? Or did he somehow know the truth, and, acting on instinct, did the right thing?

"Hey, Starbucks!" Dean whistled loudly at Luke from the kitchen. "I need your help over here."

"Starbucks?" Luke said, puzzled and disoriented.

"Yeah, Starbucks. You know, slingin' coffee." Dean cracked a grin. He couldn't tell what was funnier: If this guy knew the old man and the waiter were demon minions, or if he didn't. He decided to ask, because why the Hell not? "Did you know they were demons?"

"Demons? No. No, I didn't know they were demons." Luke looked around at his now empty diner. What the Hell was going on?

"Do you have any salt?" Asked Dean, walking over to investigate Wesley's defiled corpse.

"What? Salt?" Luke was even more confused.

"Yeah, salt. You know, little white granules, sprinkle it on food, tastes great on fries. Salt." Dean rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, I got your salt. Smart ass." Luke was growing more and more impatient, yet intrigued. Luke walked to the counter and grabbed a salt shaker. He walked back to the kitchen and handed it to Dean.

"Nope, need something bigger. Where's your industrial sized salt?" Dean tossed the salt shaker to the side.

"In the storage closet." Luke walked briskly to the side storage area next to the bar and came back to the kitchen with a container of Morton's Iodized salt.

"That's my brand." Smiled Dean. He poured the salt in a circle around Wesley and drew a pattern within the circle, making sure to pour the rest of the container onto the stump that used to contain an average sized erect male penis. "Dude, seriously? You really have gone off the deep end. Thank God these were demons, huh?"

"Yeah. Yeah, about that. WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!" Luke hoped this moment would remain intense and he would have the upper hand over Dean, however just then Wesley's body dissolved into putrid ash. 

"That nasty stench you smell right now? That's sulfur. You ever been to church, uh..." Dean looked around for a name tag on Luke's flannel shirt.

"Luke." Luke put on the air of being impatient, but in reality was increasingly becoming quite gripped into what was going on.

"Oh, like the diner." Dean smirked at his little joke. "Well, Luke, all that stuff you learned about in church is real, demons exist, ghosts exist, Hell, I'm sure there's even dragons somewhere. Probably England. And this town, your town, does not really exist."

Luke blinked. "Come again?"

"Star's Hollow. Who would have guessed that route 13 would be the portal to the ninth ring of Hell, amirite?" Dean playfully slapped Luke on the shoulder and began gathering supplies from Luke's Diner. "So, my brother, somehow, found himself in this place and now he's trapped here. Long story, I'll explain on the way."

"On they way? Whoa whoa whoa, easy there, champ. I'm not going anywhere. Some crazy guy with a gun walks into my diner, tells me my hometown is... What was it--"

"The ninth ring of Hell." Dean walked out to the dining room bar and kept stuffing supplies in his duffel bag.

Luke followed him. "Yeah yeah, the ninth ring of Hell, and I'm supposed to drop what I'm doing and just... Go?" 

Dean popped some peanuts into his mouth. "Yeah." He had no idea what the big fucking problem was.

"That's insane." Luke pondered more to himself than at Dean. "I'm insane. Clearly, after what I just saw. That didn't even happen the way I think it did."

"Oh, it did." Dean said. "That shit happened. You ever kill anybody before today?"

"No. Never." Luke said, honestly.

"So, what made you kill this kid? And throw hot coffee in that old guy's face?" Dean leaned back against the counter of the diner.

"Taylor? That guy is the biggest jack off I've ever met! Stomping around, lording over everybody, and doing everything in his power to fuck with me! I've worked my entire life to be my own man and have my own peace of mind! I do everything for the people of this town, as long as it's something they need! I fix cars, windows, doors, plumbing, electrical, and I don't ask for much! All I want is for everybody to fuck off. Is that too much? It is for wet wipes like Taylor! HE wants me to decorate, and dress nice, and hug trees, and a bunch of other namby pamby crap that my idiot wife bitches about but secretly adores! And don't get me started on my wife! It's like she gets a kick out of my misery! Drags me to town meetings, festivals, swap meets, little social butterfly. I want to rip her God damned wings off, if only so she'll stop fluttering around in my face! I just want to spend the one day off I allow myself to have drinking beer and watching football. And then there's Kirk! Wouldn't hurt a soul... On PURPOSE! But the guy is so annoying! His habits and oddities, and he's always relying on ME to fix all of his stupid mother fucking problems for him, then he goes behind my back and tries to outbid me on my house! Completely oblivious! Yeah, we get it Kirk, you're quirky and probably mildly retarded, now put a shotgun in your mouth and do a fucking faceplant, you creepy bastard! And I barely even know the damn waiter! It's like this whole town is full of..." Luke stopped himself before he could finish his thought. A sense of sheer dread swept over him like waves crashing on the beach.

Dean's eyebrows raised. "Full of what? Pure, menacing evil? Hell bent on maliciously punishing a decent man?"

Luke collected his thoughts again. His eyes lowered to the floor as if to signify a great awakening, and he nodded very slightly. "Yeah."

Dean nodded. "Mhm. Ninth ring of Hell. Come on, I'll buy you a beer."

"It's ten in the morning." Said Luke, looking up at Dean.

"Is that really going to stop you at a time like this?" Said Dean, collecting his bag of Luke's diner items and walking towards the door.

"Huh. I guess it isn't." Luke followed Dean out of the diner.

Luke gazed in wide eyed wonderment at Dean's car. A sleek, black, shined and polished 1967 Chevy Impala. A car that Luke had always wanted to own, or even just sit in, let alone drive. "Wow. This is your car?"

"Well, it is now. It used to be my dad's." Dean opened the trunk and threw his duffel bag inside on top of a cache of guns, knives, stakes, and chemicals. Luke saw the contents of the trunk and stared on in deadpan disbelief.

"Holy shit." Luke looked up at Dean. "You're the real deal."

Dean smiled cockily. "Thank you." Dean opened the driver side door. "Hop in."

"Well, I at least gotta lock up my diner." Luke pointed his thumb back at the diner he had owned for almost twenty years.

"No you don't. " Dean lit a match and threw it past Luke's shoulder. The match landed on the sidewalk, creating a trail of fire that crept into the diner through the open front door. Almost immediately, the diner was lit ablaze.

"Jesus Christ! What are you doing?" Luke's hands flew up to his head and pulled off his trademark hat. He watched as the fire engulfed everything he had worked so hard for most of his life. The culmination of all that he was would lie in rubble and ashes within minutes. "How did you even find the time to pour the gasoline?"

"I like you, Luke. I feel a certain kinship to you. Also, I don't think you belong here. That's why I'm going to pull you out of this Hell hole. But first, I need your help finding Sam." Dean hopped into the Impala and started the engine. It roared to life like only American muscle could, startling the wildlife of Star's Hollow and turning as many heads as it has turned corners. Luke looked back at his diner, then back at the car. AC/DC blared on the cassette player as Luke again looked at the smoke and fire pluming forth from his beloved diner.

Ԣ"Living easy, living free  
Season ticket on a one-way ride  
Asking nothing, leave me be  
Taking everything in my stride"Ԣ

Luke looked back at the car, face full of determination. Yes, today Luke Danes had had enough of everybody's bullshit.

Ԣ"Don't need reason, don't need rhyme  
Ain't nothing I would rather do"Ԣ

And today, he was finally going to do something about. 

Ԣ"Going down, party time  
My friends are gonna be there too!"Ԣ

Luke got into the passengers seat, and Dean peeled out, taking off down the street at a cool 50 mph, running over Babette Dell on the way out. Babette lifted herself off the ground, shakily struggling to balance herself by her bovine-like elbows. Her tongue protruded from her fat assed jowels like a spitting cobra's, and her bulbous throat emitted a coarse hissing sound. Luke rolled down his window and flipped her the bird.

Ԣ"I'm on the highway to hell!"Ԣ

 

Chapter 5

It must have been a bad morning because he was wearing his little toupee.

Dean Forester peered over the canned food aisle of Doose's market just as his boss, Taylor Doose, marched in on the warpath. He was hunting around for something, that much was for certain. Dean wished he could quit this job. He had three already, and Mr. Doose was a supreme asshole. Like, every day it seemed he couldn't wait to wake up and just go around showing off what an asshole he was. Most people had a sense of decency, or a filter. Most assholes even have to spread cheek a little to show off their stinking balloon knot. Not Taylor Doose. No sir, that asshole flapped about in the wind freely, like a ship's sail. Dean continued to peer over the shelving, pretending to work, wondering how Mr. Doose has gone this long without somebody spiking his head into the concrete. Mr. Doose seemed to be looking for somebody. The new cashier tried her hardest not to gag at the sheer reek of Mr. Doose's shit breath and Dean was about to decipher what he was asking, when he heard the familiar voice of Kirk, the town weirdo, sneak up behind him. 

"He's over here, Taylor. And he's not working." Kirk was overall a nice guy, but sometimes Dean just wanted to cave his skull in with his fingers. Kirk was the strangest person that Dean knew of, and his undying loyalty to Taylor Doose was borderline Dom/Sub. As funny as the idea of Taylor lathering up a leather clad Kirk with Thousand Island dressing and spanking his ass with a thick strap was, Dean knew he had to keep a straight face. Taylor stormed over towards Dean and Kirk. "I'm sorry to have to do that, but we're paid for a reason, and it's not fair to the others if you just hide behind the shelves." Said Kirk. Kirk's eyebrows were in a constantly furrowed state that denoted confusion, and he barely ever blinked, giving one the impression that while the engine was running, there was nobody in the drivers' seat. The blank expression was bad enough, but it came packaged in with a drooping bottom lip, almost quivering at times, and it made him look like a fucking moron. Dean always assumed Kirk was terrified at the very thought of being in the outside world, and used his overall weirdness and shitty, back stabbing machinations as a survival mechanism. In a way, Dean felt sorry for Kirk. Except for times like these.

"Mr. Forester. I need to have a word with you." Taylor made his way to Dean and Kirk very quickly. His toupee was a black/gray that did not match the rest of his head. His beard cleverly hid his turkey wattle of a neck, and his intense stare perturbed even the crustiest of customers. Taylor Doose was a pudgy man, and many pondered, a perpetual virgin. He never seemed to date, or show romantic interest in anybody. When Dean was in high school, one of his friends theorized that Mr. Doose went home every night, did yoga for an hour or so, and then blew himself until he was tired enough to go to sleep.

"He came in to work five minutes late, too." Said Kirk, standing proud and tall. His hair looked especially shitty today, as if he cut it himself using a plastic knife from a KFC. He reminded Dean of the nutjob from American Beauty. The one who kept filming the chick naked, and looked like he was going to spank his monkey when her father got shot in the head. Dean realized that guys with thick Oscar the Grouch eyebrows, blank stares, and quivering dummy lips were wastes of sperm and probably molest household pets for kicks.

"Kirk, come on, man." Protested Dean. Dean followed Mr. Doose, who beckoned him to follow with his index finger, the way a mother does when she is about to beat her child.  
"Thank you, Kirk. Don't you have something to do?" Taylor sneered viciously at Kirk, obvious in his distaste for the village idiot.

"No sir, just this and keeping on the lookout for bees." Replied Kirk.

"We don't have any bees, Kirk." Said Taylor.

"That's because I'm here, sir." Kirk said with a deathly serious tone. His eyes hovered in the air as if unattached to the reality around him, yet still deadlocked on Taylor.

"D'oh, why am I even paying you, Kirk?" hissed Taylor.

"You don't pay me, sir." Kirk responded with the personality and backbone of a fucking sponge.

Taylor rolled his eyes. "Idiot. Dean, this way. Now." Taylor walked towards the back of the store where his office was, and Dean followed behind him. Kirk turned his entire body one baby step at a time to face them as they walked away, then casually wet his pants, his face still showing the same blank expression as always.

Taylor's office was cold. It was like walking into a very festive cavern. The hours and money he must have spent to meticulously decorate and design his office to be a place of Taylor Zen was staggering. Dean looked around. He had been in the office several times, and every time there was something new that he noticed. Some kind of feature or knick knack that stuck out. Dean looked in the corner and saw a yoga mat, rolled up but with foot and ass prints clearly visible. Trying to stifle his laughter, Dean stood up straight and stared down at Taylor, who had just taken his seat at his humble mahogany desk. "Dean, sit down." Gestured Taylor. Dean looked behind and around him again, but could find no chair. Looking forward again, he could tell that Taylor was stone cold serious, so Dean sat down on the freezing cold cement floor, his eyes barely peering up over Taylor's desk.

Taylor leaned forward, so that Dean could see only his eyes and bad toupee. "Mr. Forester, your attendance issues and problems focusing are bad enough, but now I gather that you are running around with a... Well, a hooligan!" Taylor was never one to hesitate using his status as an employer or minor politician to control people's personal lives.

Dean was confused. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Mr. Doose." He didn't. He honestly didn't. After his divorce, Dean looked around and realized all of his friends had either moved out of Star's Hollow, or had families, and had no time for him. Dean had no friends. So why would Mr. Doose think that Dean was hanging around with anybody, let alone somebody of ill repute?

"Is that so? I ran into somebody today. Looking for you, actually. Had a picture of you and everything. Caused quite a disturbance at Luke's Diner, let me assure you." Taylor crossed his fingers together on his desk in front of him, obstructing Dean's view of his face. Dean shifted his body to the right to look around Taylor's hands. "Let me make one thing clear: I know that Rory Gilmore is always coming in here, looking for you, causing all kinds of dramatic issues in my store. I even know about the corn starch she stole when you two were making out in the aisles." How did he know about that? "Now, I have let a lot slide in this town. Dresses coming up to the knee, Men wearing jeans on Sunday. It's like Woodstock in this town sometimes, I swear! But I cannot have what happened at Luke's Diner happen here. So, is there anything you want to tell me?"

"No." Dean shook his head in protest. What was happening? Who was looking for him?

"You had better not bring trouble into my store, Dean. Or I will end your employment here, and you can become the next Kirk." Taylor looked out his office door, only to see Kirk struggling to fit his leg into a giant bee costume. "Oh, good lord." Taylor stood up and rushed outside to prevent yet another Kirk-tastrophe. Dean stood up off the floor, and walked out of the office, contemplating suicide for just a split second.

As he was about to throw off his dumb looking apron and walk out, he saw Rory and her mother Lorelai browsing through the spices. The very sight of Rory Gilmore perked Dean's spirits up. His heart flew for miles and miles, and he walked up to her, nervous like a cat but overeager like a dog. The amount of contradictions this girl created in Dean's life was borderline brain numbing, but he didn't care. Dean realized right then and there, for the 12th time or so, that he loved Rory, unequivocally, with all of his heart, soul, and penis. His was her first penis, a magical night where Dean threw all logic and common sense out the window for boring, slow paced sex. Dean moved slowly towards them, and it was as if he was floating. The aisles seemed to part ways, people ceased to exist. There was only Rory. Dean's floating speed slowed to a crawl right in front of Rory. Rory. Rory...

"Hey, Rory." Said Dean. And he meant it, too. His sheepish grin gave away his true feelings, and Rory, in full on Rory fashion, did the most Rory thing: She let a small, unconvincing, yet innocently charming smile spread across her boring face, her tiny 5 year old's teeth shining in the fluorescent lighting. Dean fell in love with her a thousand times in just that split second. He fell in love a thousand times more when she brushed her poopoo hair behind her ear. 

"Hey Dean." Said Rory. She bounced up and down slightly, like a small child seeing a toy that she wants. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Yeah, just one of my many jobs. Taylor is a real slave driver sometimes. Who would have thought I'd be hitting thirty years old stocking cans in the same grocery store I worked in when I was 16." Dean made himself very sad.

"Well, it could be worse. You could be unemployed, living with your mother rent free, and having to go to a gourmet dinner at your grandma's humongous mansion and look at all the cool stuff you'll get after she dies." Dean was too lost in Rory's eyes to notice a large man 10 feet away attempting to punch Rory directly in the face and being restrained by a group of townspeople.

"Hey, I have a great idea!" Lorelai butted her fucking nose into the conversation. "Why don't we invite Dean to come have dinner with us? It'll be fun." Dean could sense it. The way that one's arm hairs prickle up when a storm approaches, and the air gets a little colder? Rory and Lorelai were about to start rapid fire conversing, and Dean had a front row seat at the Thunderdome.

"We'll have to tell Grandma to cook an extra duck."  
"Daffy, Donald, or Howard?"  
Always liked Daffy, Donald's okay, Howard looks too gamey."  
"That movie was underrated."  
"As if. Best duck movie was Mighty Ducks."  
"I once gave Emilio Estevez a blow job."  
"Mom, that was Charlie Sheen and you know it."  
"I hardly remember anyways, there was a lot of coke at that party."  
"I prefer Pepsi."  
"You should marry yourself a rich Dr. Pepper."  
"It's no wonder I turned out so well."  
"You're so well I want to drop children down you and make a media circus of it."  
"If I ever have a baby, It's first name will be Baby"  
(Both) "And it's middle name will be Jessica!"  
"I love you, mom."  
"I love you too, kid."

Rory turned to Dean again. "So, dinner at my grandma's place tonight? 7:30?" The man who was being restrained witnessed the lightning quick, unrealistic conversation and gave up on living any further, opting instead to rip his own still beating heart out of his chest. But Dean didn't notice. He was going to have dinner with Rory.

"Yeah. *giggle* Yeah, that'd be great. See ya tonight, Rory." He waved to Lorelai. "Bye, Mrs. Gilmore."

"Bye Dean!" Lorelai waved phonily to Dean. "And be sure to dress like a complete slob, too. My mother will love that!" Dean laughed as he left work for some reason, even though his shift wasn't over and he didn't clock out. Lorelai turned to Rory. "Well, Rory, perhaps we'll win him over for you yet." She beamed with pride at her stuck up asshole of a daughter.

"But what if he isn't ready to make The Commitment?" Rory pondered. 

"Well, he's going to have to be ready, because the timetable is closing very rapidly." Taylor appeared from out of nowhere and stood an inch away from Rory and Lorelai while the gaping hole in his customers' chest spewed a geyser of blood. "People are talking, you know. It's a small town, after all. Strange forces at play. You both need to step up your game--" As Taylor poked his finger out into Lorelai's face, Loreali grabbed him by the esophagus and lifted him off the ground with one arm. Taylor wriggled and tried to pry Lorelai's hand away from his throat, his airways closing up because he is allergic to pain and suffering.

"Remember your place. You may be able to boss me around for show out there, but I'm the star of THIS show, you hear me? And we do this by MY time table. You got that, fuck drain?!" Taylor nodded, and Lorelai dropped him. "Now, us girls are going to go window shopping and just be a couple of bitches before dinner. Don't be too much of a shit bag, Taylor!" Lorelai and Rory joined arms and skipped out of the store. Somehow, nobody of consequence noticed what happened as they were too busy tending to the dead guy.

Nobody but Kirk, who stared empty faced at the entire ordeal. Whether or not any of it registered in his pea sized brain is ambiguous at best.

 

Chapter Six

There was a secret bar in Star's Hollow that Taylor didn't know about.

Taylor, being the totalitarian that he was, pushed heavily to restrict liquor consumption in Star's Hollow. It was a wonder that this town wasn't the murder capital of the world without the ability to wash away one's problem with a stiff shot, or a cold one. Of course, Taylor sold beer and wine out of his store, making him the Mr. Moneybags of dick eating. But there is a certain social element that comes with drinking out in public with your neighbors. Truth be told it was because of this that, Star's Hollow, for all of it's charm, was a boring town. No rowdiness, no troubles. Until the day Dean Winchester rolled into town.

The secret bar was built out of an old alleyway that was surrounded by two buildings along the side, a brick wall in back, and a beautiful Euro-gothic style wrought iron gate in front. By day, people entered from the side building that used to be Miss Patty's School of Ballet before Patricia LaCosta was arrested for touching all of those kids. The gate was sheathed in a large piece of light brown fabric, faded from years of exposure to the sun. By night, however, the fabric barrier was taken off, and the bar was lit dimly by candlelight and filled with the sounds of shitty music by local couple Zach and Lane Van Gerbig. A lookout parked in the street made sure Taylor Doose never knew about the place, lest he rip the last vestige of pleasure from an increasingly zombified populace. The lost souls of Star's Hollow, wandering about in pursuit of money and drama, needed this one thing to cling to the real world, in the hopes that maybe, one day, they could claw their ways out. Luke knew this was one of the few places in Star's Hollow where people dropped their proverbial weapons at the door and left each other be. But this was Luke Danes we're talking about here. Nobody ever left Luke alone. The feeling of anxiety swirling into rage mixed inside of Luke's chest, ready to explode at the next person who looked in his direction without written permission.

The Impala parked on a dime right in front of the abandoned ballet building. Luke and Dean stepped out into the cold, cloudy air. The sun refused to peak out of the clouds for more than a second, and Luke took a moment to take in the atmosphere. A feeling of ecstatic dread crept over him. Would this be the last day he would have to spend in this God forsaken town? Was this a good thing or a bad thing? He would find out over a beer with a complete stranger in a speakeasy located in an alleyway.

This was Luke Danes' life today.

Luke gestured towards the door to the ballet studio. "This is the place." He opened the door for Dean, who stepped in. Dean looked around and immediately felt the chill of pure evil. It was colder inside than it was outside. He could sense the presence of bad touch and even badder memories. What little furniture there was was shrouded in dusty white sheets. Cobwebs hugged corners and the eerie feeling of being watched plagued you when you looked at the mirror wall. Dean ran his hand along the balance bar. "Over here." Luke's voice shattered the daze that Dean was clouded in. Dean's head whipped up to the other side of the studio, where Luke had opened a door leading out into the alleyway. Dean walked over to the door and stepped through.

The bar was not like most of the bar's Dean frequented. The dimly lit, smoke filled dives of Dean's various travels were a sort of comfortable space for him. There, he could blend in, drink some whiskey, watch some TV, and sort through his problems. He imagined what it must be like for Luke. Looking around, all he saw were wine sipping small town yuppies yammering on about their insignificant problems. If only they knew of the evils that inhabited this realm. If only they had spent a lifetime chained to a hell hole like Dean had...

Oh, wait...

Luke and Dean sat down at the bar, where a tall, good looking, but older man with long blonde hair wiped a pint glass with a bar rag. "Dean, this is Gil." Dean was too busy looking around at the increasingly awkward stares he was getting from the other bar patrons, many of them pure grain alcoholics. Why else would they be at this place at opening on a Friday morning? 

"What'll you have?" Asked a smiling Gil, trying to get Dean's attention. Gil was a very kind man, patient, and not anything like most of the inhabitants of Star's Hollow. He owned a sandwich shop just outside of town, but now that the shop had been franchised and took care of itself, Gil needed to occupy his time and decided to make some extra scratch by operating the secret bar. Having moved out here with his family, Gil actually loved every minute of life in Star's Hollow. It was weird.

Dean's attention again focused back to the task at hand. "Uh, yeah, two beers for us, please." Dean's head spun around to face Gil, and what he saw before him made him blink in shock and awe. "What th-- Dude, you're Sebastian Bach!" It was indeed Sebastian Bach, in all of his Viking-like, Metal Legend glory. Star's Hollow had a way of making a man forget who he was, it seemed. Dean wondered how long he had here before the same fate entrapped him. 

Gil smiled at Dean, his eyes wincing, finally showing a little bit of that age. "Sebastian Bach?" Gil poured two cold ones and slid the pint glasses towards Dean and Luke.

Dean didn't even look at his beer. His eyes were fixated on Sebastian Bach. "Skid Row?"

"Oh, I always avoided that place when I lived in L.A." Gil replied. 

Dean blinked rapidly. What were the odds of running into Sebastian Bach in the ninth ring of Hell? Pretty good, actually. "So, you've been to L.A."

"Yeah, used to live out there man. I miss it, but this is my home now." Gil smiled his toothy grin and started mixing a mojito for another customer.

Dean was still stunned. "Sebastian Bach!" He gestured toward Gil as if showing him off to the entire secret bar. Looking around, nobody else seemed to care. He looked to Luke, who was just as confused as anybody else. 

"You mean the classical composer?" Gil laughed. "Naw man, I'm just Gil." Gil chuckled to himself as he walked away to tap another keg for the bar. Dean's jaw was perma-dropped. He looked at Luke with a puzzled face.

"What?" Luke asked. This mysterious nature of Dean Winchester was getting more and more annoying. Luke wanted answers, and he wasn't going to wait any longer.

"Remind me, before we leave this town, to come get that guy." Dean said, grabbing his beer.

"Okay, I've had just about enough of this. Who are you, what's going, what the Hell is Taylor really, did you know Babette was some kind of obese snake monster when you hit her with the car, is the whole town like this, and a whole lot of other questions I can't think of right now!" Luke was furious, and Dean knew that he had a right to be. This was the whole reason to go have a beer. To let it all out into the open, to sit down, collect themselves, and talk it out.

"Okay, first of all, who am I. My name is Dean Winchester. I have a brother named Sam Winchester, who you apparently know in this town as Dean. Still trying to figure that out, but it can't be a coincidence. Years ago, when I was just a kid, my mom went to go check on baby Sam, only to find a yellow eyed demon in there. What he was doing, I don't know. But my mom found him, and for her troubles, he pinned her to the ceiling, cut her open, and set her on fire."

"Oh my god..." Luke felt a little bad now for Dean. Was his entire life like this? Filled with monsters, demons, and hell holes? 

Dean took a swig of beer. "My dad made it upstairs just in time to look my mother in the eye one last time, and see the bastard escape. He grabbed my brother and I, and we hopped into the car and left. Last time I saw my house, it was engulfed in flames. Dad was kind of in your position now. He couldn't believe what he had seen, but in a way, he kind of knew what it was right off the bat."

"A demon." Said luke.

"Just like Taylor. Just like that fat bitch I rolled over." Dean said. "And while I'm pretty sure not everybody in your town is a demon, we can't be too careful. Even ol' Gil here could be inhabited by one. God forbid. Anyways, my dad trained me and my brother, with a whole lot of help from his friend Bobby. Eventually, we would be old enough to hunt with dad. We were ready, we did a lot of good, lotta bad too. But things with Sam and dad weren't good. One day, Sam had enough of dad barking orders and left. Wanted a regular life."

"So he found himself here." Luke said. It made sense, given how long Luke had known Dean... Well, Sam.

"That's the kicker. He didn't. Our dad up and disappeared one day, and went off the grid. I found Sam, going to college, living with his girlfriend, and convinced him to help me find dad. When he came home, his girlfriend..." Dean stopped for a bit. "Let's just say, Sam was too young to see what happened to our mom, but he got to see what I saw when he came home that night." 

"The yellow eyed demon." Luke said.

"Exactly. He had no choice but to join the hunt. Find that yellow eyed bastard. We looked for dad for a long time, and when we finally found him, we didn't get long with him. Dad died, and Sam and I went off on our own. Unfortunately, things aren't always smooth between us, and after having a bit of a disagreement, Sam went off on his own, and went off the grid. Same as dad did. It's bad when a hunter does that." Dean took another drink.

"Hunter? What, like, you hunt demons and monsters?" Luke admittedly thought that was pretty awesome. "Whose paying you?"

"American taxpayers and suckers who ignore their credit card offers. Which has the attention of the FBI, unfortunately. Which is why I need to get to Sam, before they do." Dean's face looked genuinely worried.

"And how long has he been missing?" Asked Luke.

"Three months." Said Dean.

"Three MONTHS?! I've known Dean... Sam for years!" Luke was struggling to wrap his head around this whole ordeal.

"I know. When we finally got a clue as to where he was, it looked like he had spent years in here. And Gil here? In my realm, there was this heavy metal singer in a band called Skid Row. Just fell off the face of the Earth for a while. I'm absolutely positive that's him. Must have been here a while. Time goes a lot slower in Hell than it does in the real world."  
Dean looked somber when he said this.

"How do you know that?" Asked Luke.

"I spent 30 years on a torture rack, 10 years torturing other souls. About 4 months in the real world." Dean remembered the feeling of pure bliss he felt getting to torture those souls in Hell. The raging fire that burned within him, the maddening cackle that would escape his lips when they begged for mercy. He was ashamed of himself. But Luke didn't need to know that. Not now.

"How did you get out of Hell?" Asked Luke. Might be useful information considering where they were.

"Would you believe me if I told you that an army of angels stormed Hell to pull me out?" Dean just realized how awesome his life must sound to an outsider like Luke.

"Well, aren't you special." Luke was still in disbelief.

"Actually, I'm friends with one of them. He's kind of a dick, but he's alright." Dean smirked.

"Jesus." Luke was stunned. "So if Sam and Gil are from outside of here, then who the Hell am I?"

"I hope to find that out, Luke." Dean finished his beer and stood up. "But the beer is finished, the talk is over, and it's time to take some action."

As Dean walked away, Luke stopped him. "You spent 40 years in Hell. Why would you come back?" 

"The same reason I went in the first place. To save my brother." Dean dropped a ten down on the bar and walked to the side exit. He pointed at Gil. "I'll be seeing you later, Sebastian!"

Gil waved to Dean and Luke with a big shit eating grin on his face, just as oblivious as 99% of Star's Hollow's residents.

Dean and Luke exited the abandoned ballet studio and were about to hop back into the car to ask around about Sam when they stopped dead in their tracks. Across the street, Taylor Doose materialized from out of nowhere, eyes black as midnight, face contorted. And he looked very unhappy.

There WAS a secret bar in Star's Hollow that Taylor didn't know about.

 

Chapter 7

"Did you really think you could hide a speakeasy from me in my own town?"

Taylor Doose was pissed off. Aside from the fact that he was a demon minion and that "pissed off" was his natural disposition, he had also really fallen into his role as the Selectman for Star's Hollow and prided himself on his ability to manipulate and control his subjects like the ants they were. Luke Danes was always a thorn in his side. Rebellious. Head strong. Intimidating. Exactly the kind of thing an unholy despot doesn't want mixed in with his subjects. But now, a secret bar? Liquor being sold in Star's Hollow, a county dryer than Mrs. Kim's unused vagina? Luke had gained the upper hand over Taylor this morning with the help of this stranger. It would not happen again.

"This world has enough problems without liquor being sold to a bunch of drunks, just to make more drunks!" Taylor threw up his hands and started huffing and puffing like a 7th grade drama teacher. "I have fought for decades to keep Star's Hollow a clean place, a place of purity, and now you have sullied it, Luke, by maliciously spreading this malignant cancer upon us..." As Taylor prattled on, Dean opened the trunk of the Impala. Luke remembered the weapons cache.

"Let's hope you're as gutsy out here as you were in the diner." Whispered Dean.

Luke's eyes narrowed as Taylor continued bitching, the shit stink of his breath wafting through the air. "Just hand me the shotgun, kid." Dean handed a shotgun to Luke, who started loading shells. Luke, having been an avid hunter for most of his life, knew how to handle some firepower. Dean looked at the shells Luke was loading.

"It's better if you use--" Luke cut Dean off.

"Yeah yeah, I know what I'm doing." Luke Danes was sick of Taylor Doose's shit. And he was finally going to do something about it. 

Taylor was too busy ranting like a Christopher Street queen to notice Luke stalking towards him. "...And furthermore, you have been a blight on this town for as long as I can remember. Your struggling diner with it's piecemeal food and wretched coffee drag the rest of us down to--"

*CH-CHK!*

Taylor looked down at the two barrels of cold hard steel that had waited just as patiently for this moment as Luke had. His eyes widened at the thought of his own hubris besting him, enraged at himself for allowing his obvious flaws as a demon disguised as a human being to enable Luke to gain the upper hand. With a nod, Luke blasted a double tap right into Taylor's stupid face. *BOOM!* Taylor flew through the air with two back flips, landing directly on his spine, his head bouncing off the curb. His mouth gaping open, tongue wagging around, Taylor Doose tried to move, but the pain was too unbearable. It would take a minute to heal properly. Then... Oh yes, then he would--

*CH-CHK!*

Oh shit.

*BOOM!*

Taylor caught another slug to the throat. Blood splattered on the pavement. A steady stream of black liquid intermingled with the red, curling it's way into a gutter. With this blast, Taylor, still prone on the ground, slid back a few more feet, his body roughly stopped by the curb like a car into a concrete barrier. Luke knew it wouldn't be this easy to kill Taylor Doose. In a way, he had always known. No, today Luke Danes wanted to finally enjoy himself.

Dean was a little surprised that Luke would be so good at this. Regardless, he still had to tell Luke that in order to kill a demon, one needed a certain kind of shotgun shell. One could use a shell of salt rock, and with enough hits you could take the demon out. This one was a brand new ammo that Bobby came upon. But first, he had to tell Luke not to kill Taylor. Dean tried to approach Luke, but was unsure of his mental state at the moment. "Luke..."

"No no no, it's alright, I got this." Luke loaded another couple of shells into the shotgun. Taylor's arm lifted up, as if calling outward for help. Just as it did, a large, red eyed dog covered in dirt and filth appeared a block away in a shroud of black dust. Dean gathered what he could out of the back of the car to stop the beast as it ran down the street towards Luke, barking madly, foam forming at the mouth. Of all the hounds of Hell for Taylor to summon, it had to be Paul Anka.

*CH-CHK!*

Luke rested the shotgun on his left forearm and pulled the trigger.

*BOOM!*

The possessed corpse of Paul Anka crumpled to the ground the moment the shotgun blast echoed through the air. Dean found what he was looking for: A paintball gun. He loaded white paint balls into the top loader and fired one at Taylor's left hand, which was still prone on the ground. If Taylor was going to take advantage of Paul Anka's distraction to recuperate, he missed his window. The paintball splashed out over Taylor's hand with a satisfying *CHONK!*, and in it's place was a splotchy yet effective trap circle. Luke looked back at Taylor and loaded another two shells into the shotgun. 

"Neat, huh?" Asked Dean, pleased with himself. "The pattern this paintball gun hits with acts as a trap for demons. They can't even budge when--"

*CH-CHK!*

*BOOM!*

"Luke!" Dean was happy that Luke was finding an outlet for his frustration and confusion, but they needed to question Taylor. Taylor, who slumped back down after the latest shotgun blast, let out a low moan of pain. Dean decided to take advantage of this and shot a trap ball at his other hand. Luke realized he didn't have anymore shotgun shells and went back to the trunk to get more. Dean noticed this and stopped him right as he was about to grab a big handful. "Luke. It's okay. You'll have plenty of ass kicking to do in your future. But for now, my brother's life may be on the line, and I need to know what this guy knows. And I'm going to need your help to pry it out of him."

"Will it be painful?" Asked Luke.

"Oh, God yes." Said Dean.

"I'm in." Luke hovered his hand over the trunk, deciding which instrument to grab first, not realizing that things were a little different in the hunting world. 

"Whoa, settle down a little, champ. This isn't a human being. And we're not on Earth. You can't just grab a knife or something and plunge it into his side, he'll just laugh at you." Dean picked up a fairly large Marine's knife. "What you want is a knife forged from iron, like this guy. Cut a little demon meat off. Nums!" Dean handed Luke the knife, which was surprisingly heavy for a 6 inch blade. "Now, as far as shotgun shells go, you can use the regular shell, but that only pins him down for a minute. Rock salt will cause even more pain."

"Well, okay, then let's use the rock salt." Said Luke. Taylor moaned from the ground as the gaping hole where his mouth used to be slowly reformed back into his regular yapper. 

"Shut up!" Sensing Luke may very well kill Taylor, Dean pointed the trap gun at Taylor and shot him in the face. Taylor struggled to open his giant fucking mouth to spew more bullshit, but could not muster the strength to overpower the trap spell.

Dean pulled a box of orange glowing shells out and held two in front of Luke. "These are called Holy Fire shot. Bobby discovered this after raiding a lab full of religious fanatics. You want to tear a limb off and never see it grow back? This is what you use." Luke reached out for them, but Dean pulled them away. "Uh uh. You gotta promise me you won't kill him. Not yet, anyway. We need him for now."

Luke rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. I promise." Dean handed him the shells, and Luke loaded them into the shotgun. Dean grabbed a squirt gun and filled it with chilled Holy water. 

He and Luke turned to face Taylor, walking towards him as he laid helplessly on the ground. "Fire and Ice, Taylor! You ever faced down Fire and Ice?" Taylor's eyes, wide with fear, now furrowed in confusion. Dean sprayed the icy Holy water on Taylor's face, searing the flesh and making the trap paint run down to his beard. Taylor screamed loudly. "Good. So you've felt the ice. I promise you that you don't want to feel the fire."

"You have no idea what you are dealing with!" screamed Taylor. "The forces at play here!"

"Oh, I do. You're a demon, you've been luring people into your portal to Hell, and I'm going to draw out your complete obliteration if you don't tell me why." Dean was experienced with getting answers from demons. He tortured enough souls to create hundreds of demons.

"You're wasting your time. Even if it was me, I wouldn't tell you what the plan is." Taylor seemed adamant in his position to stay silent, which was odd to Luke considering his history of running his mouth. "But, hate to burst your bubbles, it isn't me. I'm just following orders."

"Hey, Taylor. There's a rumor that's been going around town for years. That you go home every night and suck your own dick. Is that true?" Luke eagerly anticipated the answer to this particular question, because he had ten bucks riding on the answer being yes.

"That's utterly preposterous, Luke! You of all people should--"

*CH-CHK!*

"Do it." Luke knew when Taylor was lying. He always knew. Luke pointed the gun at Taylor. "Do it, and we'll let you go. You can saunter off to some other Hell realm. But I want to see you do it."

Taylor hesitated for a moment. He tried to move his arms in a feeble attempt at escape, finally resigning himself to his humiliating fate. Luke Danes may have won this round. But the battle was not over yet. "Oh, all right." Taylor attempted to lift his legs while bringing his chin forward to his chest, made all the more difficult that his hands were still pinned to the ground. His tongue protruded out, like a child reaching desperately for the brass ring on a merry go round. 

*BOOM!*

Taylor's crotch exploded in a mess of fire and blood. The scream that emanated from the demon minion was unholy, with three or four flowing voices, crying their pain into the eternities.

"Fucking Cocksucker." Luke just made ten dollars.

"Hyaaaaahhhh..." Taylor was almost out of breath, it hurt so much. The Holy Fire had annihilated his nads, and his dick was just burned out of existence. "You mother fucker! You dirty mother fucker! I'll get you, Luke Danes! I'll fucking get you! I'll burn your soul in a pit of lava and spike it over a bed of nails!"

*CH-CHK!*

Taylor grimaced. There was one way to get out of being tortured into talking too much. "Cocksucker... Cocksucker..." Taylor laughed. "Like Lorelai... Lorelai the Unholy cocksucker..." Taylor continued to laugh.

"What did you say about my wife?" Luke was so wrapped up in everything that was going on, he didn't even think about his wife. About the possibility...

"Your wife's a filthy cocksucker, Luke!" Taylor's eyes burned with darkness. He laughed violently, his voice becoming deeper, booming with Hell. "We all gather around her, and she drops to her knees and sucks everybody's cocks! She's a pro at it! She's a queen, Luke! The regular Whore of Star's Hollow!"

"Shut up! Shut up about my wife!" Luke pointed the shotgun at Taylor. As much as Lorelai aggravated Luke to the brink of insanity, he did love her. Her quirks, her humor. Luke could never describe it, but all of these eccentricities delighted him. 

"We hold separate town meetings, away from the rest of you. Right there in the church! Tie her hands from the ceiling! Rip her clothes off her body! And she LOVES it! She loves it when we absolutely RAVAGE her! Do you know what we call her? What we call your precious wife when she's servicing all of us?" Taylor was ready.

Dean knew it would be too dangerous for him to restrain Luke. "Luke, don't do it!"

Taylor looked at Luke, and his voice roared even more fiercely with the guttural Hell chords of a demon choir. "Whore-elai! We all call her Whore-elai!"

*BOOM!*

 

Chapter 8

"Do you think you're in charge here or something?!"

Dean Winchester had a right to be angry with Luke. After all, Dean was in a desperate race against the clock to save his brother, Sam. A clock that was coming closer and closer to it's last tick. And Luke had just killed the closest thing that Dean had to a lead.

"Look, will ya calm down? We'll find your brother." Luke dismissed Dean's protests and walked away.

Dean turned Luke around and punched him in the face as hard as he could. Dean could tell that Luke could take a strong hit to the face. He decided to let him have it. Take all of his anger and frustration out on this guy whose anger and frustration just set him back when he was so close. Dean picked Luke up off the ground by the scruff of his shirt and slammed him up against the Impala.

Luke felt that hit. Felt it hard. He'd been in fights before, sure. But this guy hit like a freight train. Big kid, probably trained in boxing. Luke knew he couldn't take him one on one. But he had to assert himself here. Because Luke Danes was tired of everybody's--

*WHAM!*

Another punch to the face. Dean grabbed Luke by the scruff of his jacket and shoved him into the car, again. Luke shoved Dean's hand away and stood tall, trying hard to look tough after getting smacked around like he did. Dean pointed his finger at Luke, circling him in the street. "You."

Luke turned to face Dean as he circled around him. "Yeah. Me."

Dean continued to point. "You have set me back. Three months, Luke! Three months, and we had this one on the ropes! I would have gotten everything out of him!" Dean gestured to the pile of ashes that was once Taylor Doose.

Luke conceded that it was a persuasive argument. "Okay, Look, I'm sorry. I was out of line. It's a lot for me to handle right now."

"My brother is out there! He could be dead!" Dean was about to leave Luke in the dust.

"My wife is sucking cocks in Hell! Did you ever suck cocks when you were in Hell, Dean?!" Luke was ready to get punched again. When Dean raised his fist, Luke pointed the shotgun at him.

Dean stopped. He took a split second to think about his next actions. This guy was clearly unhinged. Jaded. Would he do it? Would he spoil all of this just for a second of satisfaction? Would it be worth it to try to get the gun out of his hand?

Luke lowered the gun. "Look, I want to help you, okay? I do."

"Yeah, and how are you gonna do that?" Dean asked.

"I know a guy. He may not be the sharpest guy out there. I may even want to smack him sometimes. But I think he's got a good heart. And he seems to know everything in this town." Luke dreaded this encounter, but he knew he had no choice, and he really did want to help Dean find his brother.

"Oh yeah? And where is this guy?" Dean was growing impatient, yet a tinge of hope kept him there long enough to hear Luke out.

"Probably in town, doing some stupid shit." Luke gestured towards the main street. 

Dean thought about it. Could he trust this guy after what just happened? Did he even have a choice? Growing more and more frustrated, Dean walked to the front of the Impala and opened the driver's side door. "Show me where this guy is." Dean stepped into the car and slammed the door.

Luke opened the passenger side door, and together they road off down the street, on their way to find Kirk.

Kirk Gleason was a simple man. Simple in mind, but not so much in character. To Kirk, making little people out of produce and various trash pieces and selling them to the town's tourists and citizens made perfect sense. And in Kirk's mind, it was going to make him a lot of money. Kirk kept himself as busy as possible with a myriad of jobs, ranging from firefighter to farmer. And he needed it. Anything to keep his mind off the years of sexual abuse he suffered at the hands of Patricia LaCosta, known in the Star's Hollow media as "Bare-ass-nakov." Today, Kirk was taking advantage of the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday, and smiled briefly as he placed a squash person with coat hanger legs and a Kleenex scarf on his display in the town's center. Yes, today was going to be a great autumn day in Star's Hollow.

That's when the 1967 Chevy Impala drove up, and two men shoved Kirk into the trunk.

Kirk finally saw light about ten minutes later when the trunk opened. A hand grabbed him roughly by the shirt, lifted him out of the car and dragged him into a strange building, forcing him into a chair. "They're just produce people, and Taylor said I didn't need a permit." He thought the police had illegally detained him and were throwing him in jail. Because Kirk. His eyes adjusted to the light, and he saw a strange man standing next to... Luke! "Oh, Luke! Thank goodness it's you. I was worried I would get arrested again. Seriously, they call us a capitalist society, but then when you--"

"Kirk, enough, enough, you're fine, you aren't in trouble. But this guy needs your help. I... need your help." Luke choked the words out of his mouth that he hoped he would never have to utter to Kirk. It was already bad enough that Kirk looked up to him as an older brother figure. That Kirk, like much of the town, came to Luke for help with just about any inane bullshit you could think of: Advice on women, protection from night terrors, public intoxication, or just plain old crying his eyes out about all the sex stuff with Miss Patty. Luke really didn't like Kirk all that much.

Kirk was eager to help his best friend. "Of course I'll help you, Luke." 

Luke gestured Dean towards Kirk. "Dean, this is Kirk. Kirk, Dean."

Dean held his hand out to Kirk. "Hey man. Sorry we had to grab you so quickly. We can't trust anybody right now."

Kirk stared at Dean's hand. "I don't know you."

Luke grimaced. "Kirk, just shake his hand." Kirk reached out and reluctantly shook Dean's hand.

"Ow! Why did you squeeze it so hard?" Kirk was taken aback at the rough nature of this new friend.

Luke leaned into Dean. "Look, uh, Kirk was bullied a lot as a kid. You gotta kind of treat him like a child, you know?"

Dean looked back at Kirk and smiled, leaning in. "Hey, big guy. I'm Dean. I'm looking for my brother Sam. He's in Star's Hollow, as far as I know." Dean pulled the picture of Sam out of his jacket. "Have you seen him around?" 

Kirk looked at the picture. "Yeah, Dean was at work today."

"Do you know where he is now, Kirk?" Luke asked.

"I didn't follow him home after work today. Why would I know what he did afterwards?" Kirk was testing Dean's patience.

"Kirk, buddy," said Dean through gritted teeth. "I need to know anything you might know about my brother." He showed him the picture again. "Did you see him talking to anybody?"

Kirk looked at Luke, than at Dean, then Luke again. "Why is he talking to me like I'm a child?"

Dean grabbed Kirk up out of the chair and smacked the ever loving shit out of him. "You waste of my fucking time!" Screamed Dean. Dean pulled his Colt .40 out of his pocket and pointed it at Kirk. "You've got three seconds and then I'm gonna blow your God damned head off!"

Luke understood how frustrating it was to even look into Kirk eyes, let alone deal with him.

Kirk held his hands up. "Dean was talking to Rory and Lorelai Gilmore! Then he left work early without clocking out and Taylor and the Gilmore's started talking about some kind of demonic ritual!" 

Dean lowered his gun, impressed with how easy it was to get the answers out of Kirk. Luke came through for him today. 

Luke looked at Kirk with an angered shock. "Wait, demonic ritual. You say that so casually. How long have you known about this?"

"Oh, I've known for years. I hang out around Taylor all the time." Kirk. Oh my fucking God, Kirk...

"You mean to tell me, my wife and step daughter are demons, and you never thought to tell me any of this?" Luke was enraged. 

"You never asked." Kirk didn't understand why Luke was so angry with him all the time.

"You dirty mother fucker!" Luke lunged forward and choked the shit out of Kirk. Dean, not wanting a repeat of earlier, separated them. 

"Cool your jets there, Luke! We don't know where they went." Dean got control of the situation, then turned to Kirk. "Kirk? Did they say where they were going? What they were planning?"

But Kirk wasn't listening. He was too horrified at the realization of where Luke and Dean had brought him. The old furniture, draped in dusty blankets. The familiar side door that led into the alleyway. Kirk stared into the glass wall where he would practice his arabesque as a child. In his one on one sessions...

She appeared behind him in the mirror. Kirk was afraid to turn around. He knew just looking at her what she was now. Miss Patty had died in prison of a heart attack. And yet, there she stood, in the mirror, seemingly behind Kirk. Or was she actually inside the mirror? The visions that tormented Kirk in his night terrors roared to life in his fractured psyche. 

Then, she spoke. "Ooh, look at those strong dancer's legs, Kirk. You were always my favorite student." Miss Patty wiped a swath of drool from her chin as the thought of getting her hands on Kirk again danced in front of her. Dean and Luke looked around, but did not see Miss Patty. Kirk trembled, his hand going limp and shaking. "I'm coming to you, Kirk. I'm going to do my 'pas de pat.' Make sure those powerful hands catch me in all the right places." Miss Patty shook her ass like a cat getting ready to pounce, and ran full speed towards Kirk, screaming a guttural bellow. Luke and Dean searched the room, but could not see where Miss Patty was coming from.  
Kirk's hand went from limp and shaken to a cold, hard fist. He walked briskly up to the mirror, where Miss Patty was barreling forward like a bat out of Hell. Luke and Dean finally saw Miss Patty in the mirror. They looked back to the other side of the room, but she was not present. It was if she was in the mirror--

*SMACKSMACKSMACKSMACKSMACK!!!*

*Whoooosh... CRASH!*

Kirk had never told anybody this, but aside from being a talented ballet dancer, he had trained to be an expert in Krav Maga. As Miss Patty came barreling through the glass from the mirror dimension into the ninth ring, Kirk beat the absolute taste out of her fat mouth and hip tossed her right on her bitch ass. The room shook as all five hundred pounds of child molester crashed to the ground, leaving a sizeable crack on the hardwood. Kirk picked her back up with ease and successfully dodged, parried, and redirected every hit she threw at him, countering with quick, sharp hits. It was a long time coming. Kirk always knew the monsters were real. And that is why he prepared in such a disciplined manner.  
"Kirk!" Dean threw his gun to Kirk, who caught it in mid air and unloaded a clip of salt into Miss Patty's face. She went down, hard. Luke remembered the iron knife he had on him. He handed it to Kirk, who was breathing hard, wild eyed, and practically frothing at the mouth. Luke knew what was going on in Kirk's mind. Knew the satisfaction he would know having finally faced his tormentor after all these years. 

"Finish her off, Kirk." 

Miss Patty looked up at Kirk, her eyes glazed over with darkness, several sizeable, oozing bullet wounds peppering her face. "Kirk... No..." She put her hand out as if to stop him. Kirk grabbed her wrist and twisted. Her bones cracked loudly and her screams would have come out had Kirk not jammed the knife into her throat. Miss Patty lingered for a moment before finally fading into ash. Kirk looked down at the ash pile and collected his thoughts, erratic as they were. Things seemed to be making sense again. He looked back at Luke and Dean.

"Dinner. They're going to dinner at Lorelai's mother's house."

 

Chapter 9

These Gilmore's have too much damn money.

That's the first thing that ran through Dean Forester's mind every time he passed the iron gates and drove up the expansive terraces of the Gilmore estate. Located not far from Star's Hollow, the drive was so familiar at this point, Dean found himself not even realizing that he made it. The road hypnosis had a calming enough effect on him as to prepare him for the worst. And strictly speaking, it got pretty bad at the Gilmore estate. Passive aggressive jabs, conniption fits, faux politesse. These were all things the Gilmore's excelled at, and usually got around to before the main course was being served by the perpetually frightened servants.

Dean parked his truck at the valet roundabout and stepped out into the clean, cold night air. The wind tonight was ferocious, and tussled his hair like that creepy uncle who keeps giving you noogies, and you don't know it at the time because you're a kid, but it's sexual. It's very sexual for the uncle. As the wind molested Dean's hair, and he ascended the steps to the front entryway, the door slowly crept open, and Lorelai Gilmore stood waiting. Smiling. Dean never wanted to admit it, but there was something unnervingly creepy about that smile. As if it was fake. As if the human makeup could rub off or smear one day, and clown makeup would be revealed underneath. Was Lorelai waiting at the door for Dean to show up? Normally, they sat in the waiting room (which most normal folks just refer to as a living room, but the Gilmore's had three of those, so why the fuck not call it a waiting room?). Waiting. In the waiting room. Silent. Staring. Tonight must have been making Lorelai antsy. Was she anticipating Dean's arrival more than Rory?

Rory. The thought of her, waiting inside for him, roused Dean from his wandering, questioning mind. Would she be wearing a dress? A skirt? Those knee high hooker boots that come off very ironic for a girl that seemed to have been dipped in sweet innocence at birth? The anticipation Dean felt welling inside of him like a horde of rabid butterflies almost made him completely unaware of Lorelai's greeting. "Dean! Welcome, come on in."

Dean smiled sheepishly and entered. "Hey, Mrs. Gilmore." Dean took off his coat and hung it upon the rack by the front door. Upon entering, it was almost as if the house snapped into existence. Dean could swear that, at the corner of his eye, the house looked decayed, deformed, and in general deee-sgusting. Like when it's dark in your bedroom, and you see a figure looming in the shadows, and it turns out it's just a pile of clothing. However, upon a much closer examination, everything was as it always was. A nice, neat, and classically decorated pre Victorian style house, colonial in it's overall aesthetic. Looking into the waiting room, it was just as expected. Emily Gilmore, Rory's grandmother, sat rigid on a love seat, her bony body seemingly held together by some form of black magic. The most notable feature was actually an absence. Richard Gilmore, the families patriarch, had passed away and was currently staring Dean down from the hearth in the form of a massive, hand painted portrait. Dean was always a little intimidated by Richard. His money, his judgmental nature. But now he was dead. Dead, and still menacing him somehow.

And then there was Rory. Rory... Sitting on another sofa in a pretty, spaghetti strap dress with a floral pattern, like a garden had vomited on another garden. She wore those black leather boots that just absolutely slayed Dean. As if she knew how wild it would drive him. Like this sweet innocent dream of his had a feisty side, hidden away from everybody. Everybody except Dean. "Hey Dean." Rory smiled and stood up to greet him with a big hug. At that moment, Dean wished this moment could last for an eternity. He wrapped his arms around her waste, taking care not to crack her frail spine in half with his power. He looked past her, at the back wall. At that painting. Over the hearth. Looking at him. 

Was it looking at him?

Dean blinked in a panicked rush. The portrait of Richard Gilmore stared out into the open waiting room, plastered upon the canvas in the most static of manners. Dean let go of his embrace with Rory, and it was more painful to do so than being dragged through hot coals. Looking past her for a brief moment, Loreali sat in a squash chair, watching, smiling. That eerie smile, as if hiding something sinister. Dean did not recall having a feeling this strongly before. But tonight was different. "You two are so cute together. Like a couple of little bunnies. Aren't they like a couple of little bunnies, mom?" Lorelai directed her inane musings to her wilted husk of a mother. 

Dean could see Emily in a mirror, sipping a cup of tea, her lips pursed and anus-like. Her hollowed eyes did not glance backwards at Rory and Dean, but rather upwards at the portrait of Richard. "Oh my, yes. Like a couple of bunnies. And before you know it, they'll multiply like bunnies, and then we'll have little bunnies hopping around, breaking our vases and antiques, tracking mud onto the rugs, and overall just making a general mess of things. Not proper bunnies, mind you." While it was not uncommon to hear such forthright talk coming from a family that appeared to have no filter when it came to polite conversation, things seemed more intense than usual. Emily Gilmore always seemed to be the one to delight at the thought of treating her guests like complete shit with the hospitable nature that only a northeastern American WASP can muster. But that shit was cold.

"Grandma, don't talk like that. It makes people uncomfortable." Rory made a very rare stand against her grandmother. Dean, as uncomfortable as he was with the new line of subject matter, was admittedly quite excited at the thought of taking Rory over and over again, and having an entire flock of tall, gangly children with high IQ's and low ambitions. But why was Emily Gilmore calling them out like that? Jesus, lady, these things take time!

"Oh, I don't mind, Rory." And he didn't mind. If this was the worst thing to happen to him tonight, he would consider himself lucky. After all, he would belly crawl through the razor sharp barbed wire of Hell's floors to be anywhere near Rory. Lorelai, seemingly looking to interrupt the awkwardness created by her mother, interjected herself into the middle of everything... By making it more awkward.

"Wouldn't those bunnies look so cute though?" Lorelai beamed at the concept. A bunch of little Dean's and Rory's brought into the fold. Playing. Bitching. Their empty lives filled with empty drama to be forced upon the world. Just hours and hours spent talking about nothing, doing nothing, and being so damned quirky and charming about it. Lorelai licked her lips in anticipation at the very thought. Dean thought it odd that she sat there, staring off into space, rubbing her hands together like a James Bond villain.

"That's what you thought about Logan's bunnies, and look what happened there." Was Emily Gilmore drinking tea, or was she slurping bourbon again? "Nothing but utter disappointments, the moment they crawled out." Dean noticed something. Emily's normally rigid body was bobbing about loosely as it sat in the chair. Her head bobbled too, almost independently of everything it was attached to. And her hair. I mean, old ladies' hair is often times brittle enough to snap off and stab somebody with, but this just seemed... Artificial.

"What does she mean?" Asked Dean. Rory at once held him again, and Dean fell into the soft embrace. Like flying through the cloudscapes of Heaven, the call of Rory brought him back into a world of comfort that he so desperately craved. 

"Don't listen to her, Dean." Rory whispered as she patted him along the back. "She's upset about something, and we're just going to eat dinner like none of this ever happened, okay?"

Dean rested his head upon Rory's shoulder and relaxed. That's when Emily Gilmore stood up behind Rory.

Emily bobbed and weaved towards him, her left and right sides alternating her body forward. Her face, carved of wood, splintering after years of degradation. Her eyes, black, painted on, unblinking. The room appeared to distort outwards and the side walls closed in, as if the back wall was trying to escape this horrific sight. Her bony body hopped towards him in a sort of dance, floating above the ground and dropping again with each step. As quickly as she bobbed and weaved towards him, she didn't seem to be moving too quickly in his direction. 

And strings. She had strings coming out of her limbs, reaching to the ceiling above her. She was but a puppet, with no visible master. 

Her arms extended outwards as she jaunted slowly towards him, her mouth carved into her wooden face just enough to eek out her words, which came out in a raspy hiss, head lazily wobbling about. "She had a litter already, boy!" Her arms shook with rigidity, as if going weaker and weaker by the second. "I fought for a worthier father, but the spoil came out as slime! Too much blue blood! The boy is not the problem! It's the girl! The birthing hole is rotten! Rotten slime to create the Hell filth! You will be no better, boy!" With that, Emily Gilmore burst into flames. 

The fire burned bright red in the waiting room. Dean could see it for it's true features. Everything was pure evil. The furniture, the drapes, the carpeting, the teapot. No life in them, no. But looking upon each item was nightmarish, as if the soul within you knew the darkness that it emanated. Each item conjuring thoughts of death, dismemberment, pain, and suffering. Dean stared at the marionette Emily, fire raging about her. Her screams of pain echoed throughout the house, and she bumped and banged into everything, knocking objects onto the floor. Her panicked movements only directed Dean's eyes upwards to the portrait of Richard. Richard. Who was now in the painting, reaching out and crying in agony for his wife. Banging against some kind of barrier between the painting and the room Dean found himself inhabiting. And Lorelai. Lorelai, who smiled through it all, the embers of her puppet mother's ashes now burning brightly in her cat like eyes. Glowing in the night. "He'll be fine, mother. I've said it all along." Dean was too frozen in horror to move. But something. Something further held him in place. He looked down at Rory. 

"Don't go anywhere, Dean. We haven't even eaten yet." Dean could feel the spindly, spider leg fingers caressing his back. A chill ran all through his body. These were no longer the comfortable, calming hands of soft, sweet Rory. Several hundred eyeballs, all glowing with red and black evil, peppered her monstrously oversized face. Her mouth, sideways, sharp teeth jutting out like rusty nails in an old fence. Everything else, however, resembled Rory, right down to the brown hair, neatly resting at her shoulders. How could God have created such a creature?

Dean Forester screamed. He struggled to release himself from Rory's grip. More spider fingers. More spindly, hairy legs, creeping up his shirt, an uneasy tickling sensation. Bad touch. He wanted so much to just have one second to free himself, slap his hands all over his body and rid himself of this sensation. The sensation of being covered in spiders. How many arms did she have? Were they actual spiders for hands? Or was this creature locking him in a stranglehold merely a mutation? A combination of every bad thing that could exist, molded into one disturbing entity? Dean would have no time to think about this, as he was dragged into the kitchen and thrown onto the table. 

Music played, as if it was part of the air around them. Dean could almost smell it, feel it. "La-la-la-la-laaaalala..." It just repeated itself, as if to lull any victims into soothing madness compared to the Hell they found themselves in. His shirt was ripped off of his body, but by what, he did not know.

He looked up and saw Lorelai. Her face was twisted and distorted. Her teeth, gnarled and rotting, reaching all the way up to the tips of her lips, which formed a crooked smile that literally stretched from ear to ear. Her eyes glazed over with blackness. Nothing but darkness peering into his very soul. "His blood will mix well with yours, Rory. Soon, we will repopulate Star's Hollow. Soon, a clutch of filth will skitter out of your birthing hole, and we will become powerful once more."

Rory held Dean down onto the table. He struggled to free himself from her amazingly powerful grip. He looked to her hands. The spider leg fingers, pointed at the ends, were attached to black, furry hands, each one with a bushel of a dozen or so black eyes, gazing intently at Dean. Dean looked back up at Rory. Her body had deformed more into the monster he now knew her to be. Beneath that pretty little floral dress, a gaping, hairy hole the size of a sewer opened up. Slime dripped out of it in buckets, drenching Dean's now bare chest.

"Oooh, she's excited, Dean." Lorelai grinned as she watched her daughter open up the birthing hole. A large proboscis slithered it's way out of the hole, and parked itself at Dean's crotch. It stroked and sashayed itself along his pants, as if it was building up it's own sexual anticipation. Dean shuddered at the thought of where this thing may try to penetrate him. Then, as if by sheer magic itself, Dean's fear melted away. It was a warming sensation, like a hot shower after a cold day. The spell of Rory Gilmore had faded away. Dean twisted his wrist and managed to land his palm on top of one of Rory's spider hands. He squeezed as hard as he could, and the hand popped. It screamed, as if independent from Rory's body, and struggled to flee from his death grip. Finally, it went limp, and Rory's hand died in Dean's. As Dean fought his way out from under Rory, and wiped his hand of her filth, he had a sudden and unexplainable realization.

"Sam." He thought. "My name is Sam."

 

Chapter 10

Castiel had been to Hell. 

For an angel, it wasn't exactly a vacation spot or favorite hangout for him. But he had been there all the same. Business as usual. The Archangels called upon him to save a vagabond by the name of Dean. Pull him from the deepest, darkest pits of Hell itself. Why in God's name, of all people, it had to be Dean Winchester, Castiel did not know. At the time. In the time since, Castiel would come to know Dean and his brother Sam as being dependable, capable, and even impressive examples of what the human race has to offer. 

So why was he standing here on the edge of a cliff looking into this seemingly quaint and peaceful little town in Connecticut? 

Castiel resented God at times for sending him to Earth to live among the mortals, and aid the Winchester's in their quest. Wasn't there some kind of higher calling? Then he would shake his head and realize that there was no higher calling. That line of thinking was pride talking. This damn planet. It was having an effect on him, he could feel it. He would never openly state all of this, of course. He would barely even think it. But now, as he peered into this town, this town that he could not see into the way he could see into other towns, he contemplated whether or not God could even see him where he stood. 

After all, there was no God in the ninth ring of Hell.

Castiel drew in the cold air around him. It was artificial, a ruse of oxygen and pine scent. Something no ordinary human could detect. But Castiel knew what faced him. The day he stormed into Hell, the demons tried to trick him and the other angels. Tried to convince them that the putrid stink and screams of agony were merely wind and rain. A grassy field with water sloshing up with each step. No, not blood, guts, and bone. Just water and mud, and nothing more. That squishing sound you hear? All normal. But Castiel was no fool. He and his army laid waste to all it saw. Plucked Dean's damned soul from the depths, and carried him to Earth, so that he may continue to do the Lord's work. Castiel was ready for what would transpire when he set foot into the ninth ring. 

He thought back to Bobby. If ever there was a point where the demons that run loose, or a cult of vampires, or any other dark force on Earth wanted to deal a severe blow to he and the Winchesters, it would be right now. Bobby was a tough old guy. He taught Sam and Dean most of what they knew. He was like a father to them. But by himself, he was still vulnerable. Castiel had told him as much, before coming out to Connecticut. He argued that they should wait for Dean. That it wasn't worth the risk to go all in. But Bobby wouldn't hear any of that. "I don't care what it takes, Cass. Hell, I'll go in there myself and drag them out if I have to!" Castiel knew that he would, too, foolish as it seemed to him. "But you have a certain advantage. And from what I've read about this place, there's something waiting for them there that you may be, let's say, more adequately prepared for. And I've got to make sure you three make it out the other side!" Castiel did not quite understand Bobby. The man was erratic, some may say wild in the mind. It would make much more sense to remain calm, and let things play out. If God had chosen Dean, then Dean would prevail. It should have been as simple as that. At that moment, Castiel remembered his mission. His purpose. Somebody had to go in there and pull those Winchesters out of Hell. And who better suited for it than him?

And so, Castiel found himself here. He looked down at the road to see the burned rubber. Tire tracks. Skidding. What had happened here? Was this from the Impala? Had Dean even made it inside? A rustling in the trees stopped Castiel in mid thought. He turned around to find himself face to face with a rather large deer. Massive antlers, winding and spiky. It's fur was think and light brown, with spots of a darker brown near the backside. It's muscular legs looked poised and ready to leap away at a moments notice. But it stood there. Majestic, bold, and brave. Castiel looked into it's eyes. The deer stared for a moment, and for that moment, it and Castiel knew each other more personally than anything or anyone else. 

For a moment.

In as fast as the human eye can blink, Castiel lunged forward, ran his hand straight through the beast's chest, and ripped it's heart out. The deer fought to get away from Castiel, however when Castiel's wings protruded out from under his long brown coat, the deer stopped struggling, and accepted what was to come. Castiel's eyes burned fear into the brave deer's soul. The deer cowered at the very sight of something that was so much greater than itself. It wondered what would happen next, where it would go? Would God have pity upon it? Or would it be cast aside into a darker place. Surprisingly, Castiel placed the heart back into the deer. 

"Go. And tell your master, whoever they may be, that I am coming." The deer let out a pained demonic roar, then ran away weakly, leaping down the embankment towards the quiet village, taking care not to stride too quickly so that it may heal. Castiel wiped his hands clean of the demon's blood and continued down the road, prepared for the worst, should it come.

Yes, Castiel had been to Hell. But this was Star's Hollow.

 

Chapter 11

These Gilmore's have too much fucking money.

That was what Luke thought every time he had to make the drive to see his evil bitch of a mother in law. Who would condescendingly offer him a beer while everybody else sipped on foofy champagne. Who spat venom and lies through her tiny Gilmore mouth, each word a jab to the kidneys. Luke wasn't sure that he was ready to face his wife and step daughter. Wasn't sure that he could pull the trigger on the Gilmore Girls. But he knew one thing for sure: He would take great pleasure in Emily Gilmore's demise.

Dean and Luke kicked down the door to the Gilmore estate, and Luke expected to see them sitting in the waiting room, as they always did, exchanging barbs and veiled insults, trying to outstink each other like competitive farters. He did not expect the frightening display of "slice-o'-life" in New Haven that awaited him.

A crumpled pile of ashes. A partial wooden head carved with a mortified, pained face. And a portrait of Richard Gilmore, begging to be released. The furniture, chairs, and various knick knacks all carried a supreme evil about them, as if they were somehow imbued with power. A china doll originally placed along a side table crawled aggressively towards Dean. "I get to play with you now." Dean pulled his leg up just in time to avoid it being bitten by the dolls elongated mouth. Dean pulled out his Colt and fired a shot into the doll's back, sending Hell fluff all about the living room.

Luke slowly approached the ash pile. It was murmuring, but Luke couldn't quite tell if it was saying anything. As he got closer, it became more clear that this wooden head resembled a rough caricature of Emily Gilmore. Her large, painted on black eyes focused upwards to Luke, who looked down on her with a mixture of pity and hatred. "What is all of this, Emily?" He asked.

"You..." Her voice was weak now. Raspy, thin, and weak. She struggled to spit her usual poisonous rhetoric and sucker punch jibes. "I... Will... Drag... You... To..." 

Luke stomped on Emily Gilmore's face, cracking the remaining wood, splinters flying across the floor. Luke looked up at the large portrait of Richard above the hearth. The reality of Luke's situation finally sank in, and he knew that he would be ready to do whatever it took to rid the world of this evil. Richard fell to his knees, sobbing, a look of saddened scorn sat upon his face as he glared at Luke. Luke glared right back up, and for the first time in years, spoke to Richard Gilmore. "Where is my wife?" The look of scorn that sat on Richard's face melted away to one of guilty desperation. He dropped his head in shame, and pointed to the kitchen.

"Thanks, Dick." Luke grabbed a dish rag from a serving tray and a bottle of cognac from the waiting room table, stuck the rag in the bottle, shook it, and lit it on fire with his Bic. He flung the molotov cocktail at the painting, and as Richard Gilmore shared his wife's firey fate, he too accepted what his own destiny held, reflected on his complacency in his wife and daughter's demonic machinations, and mouthed the words "Thank you" to Luke as the portrait wilted away into ashes and charred paint chips. Luke watched Richard fade from existence, and for a moment, understood everything he went through in his life. Even two weeks with the Gilmore Girls would be too much for one man, let alone half a lifetime. But where Richard had failed as a man, Luke was determined not to make the same mistakes. Luke was determined to break the chains of his complacency.

Dean scanned the room, looking for any sign that his brother was here. That maybe Sam was still alive. That's when he saw what might be the most beautiful and ugliest sight he had ever seen. Sam came running out of the kitchen, shirtless, drenched in some kind of vaginal slime. "Sam!" Dean ran forward to his brother.

Sam was in a daze. He was starting to remember, but couldn't quite collect himself. Until he saw a familiar face. The sight of Dean, smiling, rushing towards him. It all came crashing back into his brain. Winchester. Dean. Bobby. Cass. The hidden page of his father's hunting journal. The fabled portal into the ninth ring. The argument. Oh, that argument. None of that mattered now. His brother had come to drag him out of Hell. He smiled, ran towards Dean, and held his arms out to embrace his brother. "Dean!"

"Uh, uh, easy cowboy. I'm not touching you like that. Take a shower first." Dean stopped Sam in his tracks. Luke couldn't believe what he was seeing. Dean Forester. Sam Winchester. The same person. But not. The illusion now shattered. Was there ever a Dean Forester? Was there still one? Luke watched as Dean and Sam laughed and embraced anyways. Luke had helped the two reunite, and he knew it was the only good feeling he would be having for quite some time now.

Sam looked at Luke. He still remembered everything from his time in Star's Hollow. "Luke? You can't be here, it's... It's not safe! Rory..."

"I know, Sam. I know." Luke said. "Where are they?"

"In the kitchen. We have to get out of here, while we still can." Sam ran towards the door to the Gilmore estate just as Lorelai came bursting into the waiting room. Sam stopped in his tracks and turned to face her.

"Where the Hell do you think you're going?! You've hurt my daughter for the last time!" Lorelai looked to Sam, then Dean, and then Luke. "Oh, Christ. What are you doing here?"  
"I could ask the same to you! Why didn't you tell me you were a flesh eating demon cock sucker from Hell?!" Luke asked furiously.

"You wouldn't have married me!" Joked Lorelai, the twisted grin on her face now jagged and angered.

"You're God damned right I wouldn't have!" Luke pointed the shotgun at Lorelai and was ready to pull the trigger. Lorelai lunged forward and knocked the gun out of Luke's hand. She rammed her forearm into his throat and pressed him all the way up into the ceiling. Luke choked and struggled to free himself, but found himself no match for Lorelai's demonic strength. Dean picked up the shotgun and pointed it at Lorelai.

"Hey! Whore-elai!" Lorelai whipped her head around a full 180 degrees to face Dean. "Do you take it in the ass?" Dean put a round of salt right into Lorelai's gaping anus, prompting her to yowl in pain and drop Luke, whose fall was broken by Sam.

"Come on, let's get out of here before Rory shows up!" Sam once again made a beeline for the door, with Luke and Dean following suit.

"What, is Rory a demon too?" Asked Luke.

As Sam ran, he thought for a moment about how he wanted to answer that question. "No." Sam directed his next words at Dean. "Tell me you brought the car."

Dean kicked the door open and they ran outside. Rory dropped down in front of them, trapping them between the Gilmore Hell lair and the salvation and freedom of the Impala.  
"What the fuck?!" Luke was shocked by the atrocity that he saw before him that he almost turned around and went back into the house. 

Rory stood up to full height. Her spindly figure, multiple spider hands, and gigantic, hundred-eyed head towered over them at around eight feet tall. "What's the matter, Luke? I'm your daughter. Don't you love me?" She extended her arms and her spider leg fingers tried to graze Luke's cheek. But Sam had had enough of Rory's bullshit. And today, he was going to do something about it.

Sam ran forward, screaming at the top of his lungs like a Cherokee warrior. He jumped up, grabbed Rory by the hair, and pulled her down to his crotch. He placed the back of her head between his legs, scooped her up by the waist, and power bombed her neck first into the curb. A satisfying thud echoed through the otherwise quiet night, and Rory grabbed the back of her head, writhing around in pain. Sam ran off, slapping himself all over his body to get the spiders that weren't really there off of him, and he and Dean piled themselves into the Impala. 

Before they could pull the seat forward for Luke, Lorelai had already crawled out of the house and sidled her way up to him. She grabbed his right leg, preventing him from opening the car door. "You'll never make it out of here! You'll burn for an eternity!"

"Get the fuck off me!" Shouted Luke.

"I'll have an entire train of demons fucking your necks after I slit your God damned throats by sunrise! We'll make it a festival in Star's Hollow! I'll parade your rotting carcasses for all to see!" Lorelai tightened her grip on Luke's leg, attempting to pull him back into the house.

Luke remembered that Kirk handed him back the knife he used to kill Miss Patty. Luke pulled it off his belt loop and stabbed Lorelai in the top of the head with it. Lorelai shrieked in pain, and let go of Luke's leg. "Get in the car, Luke! Hurry!" Yelled Dean. But Luke wasn't finished.

Luke grabbed Lorelai by the hair and placed her head in the direct path of the door. He slammed the door on her head and face repeatedly, each time hitting her harder and harder. "WE!" *SLAM!* "ARE GETTING!" *SLAM!* "A FUCKING!" *SLAM!* "DIVORCE!" *SLAM!* Lukes yelling turned into a frustrated, high pitched shriek. "YOU GOD DAMNED BITCH!" 

*SLAM!* 

Lorelai plopped onto the curb next to her disgusting daughter, her eyes cold and dead, mouth gaping open, and black fluid oozing from the wound in her skull.

Luke climbed into the back of the Impala and Dean drove off, running over Rory, who had just risen back up to her feet. Sam rolled down the window and flipped her the bird. 

Dean looked back at Luke. He could tell Luke was tired and not in the right frame of mind. But this wasn't over yet. "Okay, Luke. Where do we go next?"

Luke looked somber. He fought back tears, breathed in, and regained himself. After the Hell he just witnessed, all he wanted to do was go home. But that was no longer in the cards. Luke couldn't believe what he was about to say.

"We have to go to the Dragonfly Inn. We have to end this."

 

Chapter 12

Castiel was too late.

The illusion of Star's Hollow was crashing down around him. Buildings actively decayed, trees wilted into dust, and animals turned rabid and violent. Some of the townsfolk had become aware of the Hell they waded through, and had turned to panic and looting. Most had not yet been clued in, and went about their day, unaware of their maddeningly baleful surroundings. The surreal nature of this was lost on Castiel. His mission was clear: Come to Star's Hollow, guide the Winchester's back to the portal, and wait for Bobby to pull them out. As Castiel wandered through the center of the ninth ring, a gazebo that most assuredly was well kept, painted white, and conjured comfortable thoughts was now sullied by the sight of a flock of demonic rabbits tearing a man's clothing off and devouring him whole. To Castiel's right, a woman was crouched on her knees, eyes wide with insanity, her hands gripping her hair tightly. And laughing. Just laughing. Unable to withstand the mental anguish of facing this new reality. Of realizing the horrors that surrounded her, and always had surrounded her. With no ability or drive to do anything about it.

Castiel saw all of this and knew, somehow, that the Winchester's had caused this.

None of this phased him. All of this was merely the hard reality of Hell. He kept walking, surveying the sights, hoping to find some shred of proof, or a sign in the right direction, that could point him to the Winchesters. The air was fouled up with the ear grating sounds of Hell's string quartet. "La-la-la-la-laaaalala..." Castiel hated the sound. It stood for everything that he opposed. Chaos. Disobedience. Pure evil. As much power as Castiel had, this acrid noise mildly irritated him enough to change his normally calm disposition. Castiel walked past a man in glasses playing a guitar. The pure ignorance of the man to his own turmoil and inevitable destruction, combined with the enraging auditory vomit that defiled the air around it, prompted Castiel to backhand the man with the guitar so hard that he flew back into an oncoming motor vehicle, smashing face first through the windshield. Castiel could see into his soul, and knew that this man was not one of the ones who wandered into Star's Hollow by mistake. The man with the guitar was a baby rapist, and deserved the divine righteousness that Castiel had fed him.

Unfortunately, in the ninth ring, divine righteousness gets you noticed.

In Star's Hollow, there were the poor souls who wandered in, unaware that their soul energy would be fed upon by the hordes of the underworld. That they would be used as playthings to powerful satanic forces. Then there were the damned souls, trucked in from Hell to suffer even further for their horrific misdeeds. Then, there were the demons. Those who were not born into demonry were damned souls, put through so much anguish and pain that they become exactly what their tormentors were. The scummy residue that formed on the underside of pure evil. Demons that all dropped what they were doing and turned their attentions toward Castiel. 

Castiel knew there would be a fight. The presence of an angel in Hell is blinding to the damned. But this place, whatever trickery that was contrived to fool the denizens of the ninth ring into unholy servitude, had already begun to show it's truer nature by the time he arrived. Castiel unfurled his wings and the demons ran forward, hoping they would be the one to present the angels guts to the master for a most glorious feast. The Overlord of the ninth ring. Whoever it was. 

They would not have the satisfaction. 

Castiel took to the air, grabbing Gypsy the Mechanic by the throat. He rammed her body into a line of demons, all eager to rip the angel apart and fight over possession of his insides. Castiel flew higher as Gypsy fought to free herself from his mighty grasp. He spun around and threw her back down to the ground, splattering her into a flood of blood, gristle, and exploding organs. Paris Geller grabbed Castiel's foot, attempting to drag him back down to the ground. Other demons grabbed Paris, and the weight was too much for Castiel, who was mobbed by demons. No. This could not be it. This is not what God had instructed him to do.

But failure was never an option. Castiel powered the demons away, bashing and thrashing about to throw off any stragglers. He picked Paris up by the ankle and spun her around, using her body as a blunt object. He saw Jason Stiles cowering on the ground and beat him half to death using Paris like a baseball bat. When Paris was used up, Castiel grabbed her by the back of the head and spiked her face into the concrete. Tom the contractor decided to step up next, and was ripped in half from the head all the way down the middle. Castiel stopped when Reverend Archie walked towards him, his hands up in the air as a sign of peace. "Stop! Stop this mindless carnage, angel! Let us all work together to overcome the evil that tempts men and women alike!" 

"Another child molester." Thought Castiel. "Star's Hollow is full of them."

Castiel lunged forward, wings spread out in attack formation, and Pele kicked the Reverend's head clean off his shoulders. It landed in Rabbi Barans' hands, and Castiel flew towards him, punching a hole through the Reverend's head and into the Rabbi's chest. He took the Rabbi's black heart out, turned around, and stuffed it down Morey Dell's giraffe like neck, choking him out in the most kosher way possible. That's when Jess, the town rebel and nephew to Luke Danes, appeared in a mist of black fog, leaning up against a light post that wasn't cool enough to hold him. "Psh. I don't care. I don't care, angel. I'm just a poet, ya know? Nothing matters in this--" Jess finally got his death wish as Castiel ripped his spine out of his back like a Predator and used it to disembowel Mrs. Kim.

As the other demons collected themselves and regrouped to figure out how best to take the severe ass beating they would soon be receiving, the skid of tires screeched off in the distance, and a black 1967 Chevy Impala raced down the street. Castiel knew there wouldn't be much time, and spread his wings to take flight, chasing the Winchesters to their destination.

And Star's Hollow did the very same.

 

Chapter 13

The Dragonfly Inn was the very core of the ninth ring of Hell.

Somehow, Luke knew this. He didn't know how as the Impala drove up the dirt path to the front of the quaint little inn tucked away in the woods, but somehow, Luke just knew. And it appeared he was not the only one. The headlights illuminated what was quite possibly the darkest night in Star's Hollow's history. A handful of people waited outside, just standing and staring at the building. They, like Luke, knew what was inside. Knew what was at stake.

One of them was Kirk.

Luke and the Winchester's stepped out of the car. Kirk looked calmly at Luke, then back at the Dragonfly Inn. "So, this is where it all ends, isn't it?" Asked Kirk. Luke nodded and almost placed his hand on Kirk's shoulder, stopping himself just before. Luke looked over and saw Sebastian Bach, Zach, Lane, and bassist Brian Fuller sitting in a large white van.  
"What are you all doing here?" Asked Luke. 

"We don't know." Said Zach. "We were just kind of... Drawn here."

"Yeah... Yeah, so was I." Luke had no idea what they were going to do here. All he knew was that this was it. This is where they had to be.

The Winchester's opened the trunk and prepared for battle. They pulled out bandoleers and holsters, guns, knives, explosives, and various relics. They did not know what to expect either. But then again, they never did. They handed armament to Luke, and Kirk showed up at the trunk to join the hunt.

"I'll need a gun that doesn't have too much recoil, I have very weak wrists for a man my age." Said Kirk.

"No, Kirk, you can't go in there, okay? You can't... Look, this isn't like it was with Miss Patty, okay? There's something in there that--" Kirk interrupted Luke.

"I know, Luke! Okay? I know that. But I can't let this end by just standing out here. I have to do something. Even if it ends in pain and torment. I have to know that I tried..." Kirk teared up and covered his face with his sleeve. He sniffled and continued talking, face still covered. "You're the only guy in this town who ever gave a damn about me, Luke! And I'm not letting you go in there alone! Okay?!"

Luke could hug the little dumb ass. "Okay. Okay, Kirk, if you really want to come in, then take the 9mm."

"You'll need explosives too, Kirk." Sam handed Kirk some grenades and makeshift bombs.

Kirk sniffled. "Thanks, Dean."

Sam winced a little. "My name is Sam, Kirk."

Kirk wiped his eyes and sniffled once more. "No, it isn't." Sam smirked. He would somehow miss Kirk when they went their separate ways.

Dean looked to the band once known as Hep Alien. "Well, who's in?"

Lane spoke up. "We aren't going to be much help to you, unfortunately. We just came for moral support."

Dean was unimpressed. "Is that it? Something brought you here. For some reason. What reason is that? What can you do for us?"

"We play music, man. That's what we do." Said Sebastian Bach.

Dean thought for a moment. "Do you know any Metallica?"

Sebastian Bach smiled. Yeah. They knew Metallica.

As Luke, Kirk, and the Winchesters finished preparing for the final showdown, Hep Alien set up for what they knew would be their last show.

Lane looked to Zach. "I don't know how much of this was real. But if we make it out of here on the other side... I just wanted you to know that--" Zach kissed her passionately and took his place at the front of the band. 

Luke leaned into Kirk. "Is everything okay with them?" Luke respected Lane a lot after her stint as his best waitress.

Kirk looked somber as he loaded his clips. "Their twins were demons."

Luke's brow furrowed. No. Now was not the time to fall apart. To be angry anymore. He had to focus. These bastards had to pay. Had to pay for what they did. Luke Danes had finally had enough of Hell's bullshit. And tonight, he was going to do something about it.

Hep Alien opened up with "Seek and Destroy," and the hunters approached the front of the Dragonfly Inn.

 

Chapter 14

When Sam kicked the door to the Dragonfly Inn down, a stale stench of evil came pouring out. 

It was no longer the cozy little Inn that Sam had recently done work for Lorelai within. The walls oozed blood, and while no lights were on, light still existed, pulsating bright to dark, color to color. Patterns changed on the floors and the ceiling moved, as if little dark beings were scurrying around inside of it, ready to jump down upon you. This was truly the birthplace of nightmares.

The four hunters stood in a row, heavy metal blasting outside, and looked to the right, then the left. Michel Gerard, the concierge, stood at his desk. "Ahh, pwease, welcoom, welcoom, we ev bin expecting yooo..." Michel clapped, grinning from ear to ear. He wore a black tux with red shirt, and blood dripped from his mouth, sharp teeth baring out from his overbite. "Vee ev ssum new vecanseez, so yoo vill eesh get yar oon room." He giggled mischievously. Zee acteeveetees vill be--" Kirk chunked a knife straight at Michel's left eye and ran forward. Michel did not have any time to scream as Kirk did a baseball slide and shivved another knife into Michel's dick. Sam walked up to Michel with a revolver and executed him with Holy fire.

A wall came out of the floor suddenly and separated Kirk and Sam from Dean and Luke. Dean tried to reach for his brother, but was too late. As the wall came up to the ceiling, Dean pounded on it to no avail. Luke clapped Dean on the shoulder. "Dean, look!" Dean turned around to find that they were in the same room that they were separated from. Only this time, a lady in a black dress and black veil stood at the concierge desk.

On the other side of the wall, Kirk was having an exhilarating adrenaline rush while Sam was desperately trying to get back to his brother. Sam tried any crack or crumble in the wall, but it was no use. He'd have to make his way through the kitchen to the hallway that goes down the middle. "Kirk, this way." Kirk snapped to attention and obediently followed Sam, pistol drawn. They walked through the entryway to the other hallway, and Sam came face to face with Rory, tears streaming down her cheeks. 

"I've changed for you, Sam." She sobbed. "I know you don't love me as I am. There are other things I can do." She appeared as she used to. Human, in a dress. And those boots. Just the way Dean Forester liked it. Sam walked towards her like a zombie, mouth agape, eyes crossing. Kirk tried to stop him.

"No, you can't. You know what she really is." Kirk wasn't strong enough to hold Sam back.

"I love her, Kirk. I just... Do." Sam continued down the hallway towards Rory. Rory... Her name kept him spellbound. Her eyes almost glowed in the dark, narrow hallway. All that was, all that Sam knew, was fading, and all that there was... Was Rory. Why, if Rory had been an ice cream flavor, she would be--

*CLCK*

A live grenade rolled down the hallway between Sam's legs, landing directly underneath Rory's massive birthing hole. Sam couldn't tell, but the proboscis was out, sniffing at the ground, anticipating Sam's arrival into it's elongated, aching grasp. Sexually. Then it felt the grenade.

"Oh, shi--"

*KABOOOOM!!!*

Luke was too preoccupied to notice the explosion at the other end of the barrier wall. But Dean did. Once again, that frustration and panic set in. What was happening to his brother? He hadn't come all this way... No. Dean set his attention again on the lady in the black veil. Luke inched closer to her, almost drawn to her. The only light in the hallways now was from the moonlight shining through the windows.

"How could you, Luke?" It was Lorelai. Using her manipulation and lies to guilt Luke into loving her again. As Dean thought about what a wretched bitch her and her spoiled daughter were, Luke kept moving towards her, as if mesmerized by her various flaws. "How could you have killed me like that?"

"No... No, I didn't... You... You're a demon... You're not even real..." Luke was so overcome with emotion and guilt that he started to weep. Dean crept up closely behind Luke, making sure not to engage Lorelai too quickly. Dean's arm went up the back of his jacket and gripped a Bowie knife he kept hidden away. Just in case.

"You snapped, Luke. You... Killed all those people. You killed me. My mother. Please... Please don't kill my daughter, too." Had this all been a psychotic episode? Luke blinked. The Dragonfly Inn was well lit and tidy. The cozy atmosphere a stark contrast to the hallucination he had been experiencing all day. Luke Danes had finally snapped. And he did terrible things. Luke looked down at the floor, at the head of the concierge desk. Michel laid there, eyes wide in shock, with two knife wounds and a bullet to the head. And Rory... Down the hall. Standing there. Frightened. Too afraid to move. Luke looked down at the loaded gun in his hands. 

"No..." He dropped the gun and looked to Rory. Poor, innocent Rory. How could he possibly hurt such a beautiful, sweet young woman? "Rory... I'm sorry... Please, I need you. I need your help." Rory stood paralyzed with fear. Luke cried. "Oh my God... Forgive me..." A hand reached out and grabbed Luke by the forearm.

"I'll cut your pecker off and shove it down your fucking throat, Luke Danes!" Lorelai grabbed Luke by the balls and was about to squeeze them off when Dean lunged forward, chopping her arm off with the Bowie knife.

And Lorelai shrieked. Boy, did she ever shriek.

 

Chapter 15

Kirk couldn't get Sam off of him.

The explosion blasted Sam back into Kirk. His ears ringing, Kirk thought back to when his siblings used to push him around and sit on him. He tickled Sam right where the hip bone meets the pelvis. Sam giggled and tried to worm away from Kirk. "Dam it, Kirk, cut it out!" Sam stood up, then helped Kirk to his feet. They both looked down the hall, and saw Rory laying on the ground, blown to smithereens. It would take a while for her to be pieced together again, and hopefully that would be enough time to go through the kitchen and find Dean and Luke.

Dean picked Luke up off the ground. Luke, still weeping, was losing his grasp on reality, so Dean smacked him around a little bit. "Get your shit together, Luke! Where do we go next?!" Luke came to his senses just enough to point down the hallway, which rounded out and led to the kitchen. Dean grabbed Luke and started running, as fast as he could. Eventually, Dean picked up the pace, and they burst through the kitchen door.

Sam and Kirk raced through the kitchen door and saw Luke and Dean on the other side. 

And Jackson Belleville. A local farmer. Naked. With a choke chain tied around his neck. And a leash...

Luke's gaze followed the leash to it's possessor. The ruler of this kitchen whom Luke had tangled with before. The Overlord...

"Sookie St. James." Said Luke.

Sookie turned her head and could just barely see the four of them over her broad, jiggly shoulders. Her head almost touched the ceiling, and her gelatinous, dark green body was so encumbered, it sat upon a platform, moved around by severed arms and legs. "Oh, hello there, Luke. Kirk." Sookie turned around to face them. The power of her arm swinging around to her left pulled the choke chain on Jackson, instantly breaking his neck and killing him. "Ooh, there I go again." She reached over next to her stove and pulled out a shaker of nutmeg. She sprinkled the nutmeg all over Jackson, who rose from the dead, sobbing.

When Sookie turned, Sam got a good look at her front side. Her hair was shoulder length, tangled, and messy. She had buck teeth the size of tic tac containers, and her fat rolls almost hung down to the floor. She noticed Sam, and hobbled over to him, as the arms and legs that were laboring to support her weight were all different sizes. "Well well, if it isn't Dean? Or is it Sam." She snapped her head to face Dean Winchester. "And you... You must be Dean." As she continued to jumble about the kitchen, her bare, sagging tits flapped about, knocking over pots and pans. Kirk vomited.

Dean was the first to address her. "What are you going to do? Eat us?" 

Sookie laughed, a deep, booming laugh, like James Earl Jones on an episode of Hee Haw. "Oh my no, Dean. I only eat my young. Jackson here helps me with that." Jackson whimpered on the floor, hoping to one day know the full of extent of death's sweet release. You saw the birthing hole on Rory, right Sam? Well, mine is more like a birthing pit. Jackson reaaallly has to get up in there for me to even feel anything!" Jackson sobbed and hanged his head in embarrassment. Kirk vomited again.

Sookie investigated the four hunters. "So... You've all come here to kill me, right? Close the portal to the ninth ring? End Star's Hollow?" 

"It's time for you to pay for everything you've done to these innocent people." Said Sam.

Sookie gave them her best resting bitch face, speaking in a calm, professional manner. "They'll rape you before we throw you on the spit, you know. The demons, I mean. They'll rape you beyond belief. You will cook quite nicely on the inside before we crisp your skin on the fire. And they will eat you for Thanksgiving." 

Luke had heard enough. "Get her." 

Before they could spring forward and prison shank Sookie, her giant fucking mouth opened up, her fat cheeks and chin rolling out of the way. Her massive gums and tiny, round teeth were illuminated in a bright green glow. A roar like a blue whale rumbled out of her throat, and the four hunters were pinned to the walls. Sookie bellowed with laughter, and the fat under her arms jiggled like an ass in a Sir Mix-A-Lot video.

"Fools! You dare assume you can escape Star's Hollow! I AM Star's Hollow!" She ran her chunky hands along her belly, and flung her tits behind her shoulders. "Mmmm... It's time to feed my babies..." Her hands parted a slit inside of her stomach, which she pulled open down the middle. Slowly, one by one, timid spider-like babies with Sookie heads skittered out of the opening in her pregnant gut. Jackson looked backwards in horror. The babies crawled over him as he shuddered, and made their way towards the hunters. "Nnnyesss... Feeed... Eat theeemmmm... Consume theeemmm... Momma needs her meeaaat..."

As all hope seemed lost, something truly miraculous happened. The music from outside, all but muted from the bowels of Sookie's kitchen lair, played louder than ever. A loud bell sounded out, as if rang from the heaven's above, and Hep Alien continued with "For Whom The Bell Tolls." Sookie licked her lips at the idea of being her young consuming Dean, Sam, Luke, and Kirk. The meat would be so spongy, and then she would get to make another clutch of detestable execrations. As the main riff in the song started, the ceiling crashed open, and Castiel landed in the Iron Man pose right in front of Sookie.

Sookie was flung backwards against the counter as the arms and legs attached to the platform of flesh beneath her recoiled in shock. Sookie's young skittered back into the comfort of her rotten womb, eager to avoid the entanglement in the kitchen. Castiel looked up and glared directly into Sookie's eyes. "Who the Hell are you?" Screamed Sookie.

"I am your annihilation."

Before Sookie could cast any more black magic, Castiel flew forward and stuffed her head into her own incubation pool. As she was drowning in her own fluids, her young, hungry for flesh of any kind, devoured her face. Crawling inside of her mouth and nose, they laid waste to her insides, eating everything they could find and being sure to scrape flesh right off the bone. And when they made it into her lungs, they rendered her breathless. As she passed away, her lifeless body fell forward, crushing Jackson on the floor.

Instantly, the spell keeping the hunters tied to the walls of the kitchen faded, and they were free. "Castiel! Am I glad to see you!" Said Sam. 

Castiel beckoned them to follow him. "Let's go." He ran towards the wall of the kitchen towards the front of the Inn, and smashed anything in his way. The hunters all followed. The ground beneath them rumbled and cracked open. Star's Hollow was finally going to swallow itself whole, and they all needed to get out of there.

As they burst through the front door, Hep Alien threw down their instruments and were ready to pile into the Impala. Dean climbed in and brought the engine roaring to life. He was in such a hurry, he didn't notice the demon army approaching.

The demon's that followed Castiel.

 

Chapter 16

What a fine time for an army of demons to try to start some shit.

As the ground shook and fissures opened in the soils of Star's Hollow, Luke could feel the world around him ending. It was as if a vacuum was being applied to the town, indiscriminate of what it purged. Everything must go. And right now was not the moment that Luke needed an army of demons to prevent him from finally leaving. Really leaving, this time. Finally clawing his way out of Hell, like countless, infinite souls clamored for their entire damned eternities.

The rest of the party was already apprehensive about getting out on time. The only thing they wanted to worry about was how they were going to all fit into the Impala. Dean rolled down the window and yelled for everybody. "Come on, we don't have that much time!" Dean looked in the side mirror and finally saw the hordes of demons waiting to feast upon their succulent meat. "Oh, that's great."

Kirk walked towards the demon army. He knew somebody was going to have to do it. He had prepared for this exact moment, without telling anybody. Lined his jacket with them. Luke ran forward to pull him back, but Kirk shoved him away. "Go!"

Luke couldn't believe what was about to happen. "No! I won't let you do this, Kirk! You can't!" 

Kirk tried his best not to cry. "I have to. Somebody has to stay behind. Somebody has to make sure they don't follow you out."

Luke didn't want to Kirk to see him weak. But he couldn't help it. Tears formed in Luke's eyes, and he got closer to Luke. "Why the Hell are you doing this?"

Kirk fought back his tears, but was losing the fight. "I don't want to live anymore, Luke. What happens to everything I know here. It's been my whole life. What do I do next?"  
"Come with me. We'll find out who we really are. Out there." Luke looked into Kirk's eyes and suspected he was not going to win this.

"I know who I am, Luke. I'm Kirk Gleason. Don't try to follow me. Just go." Luke hesitated. "Go!"

"Luke, let's get out of here! The sky is cracking open!" Sam was right. The very fabric of space and time, manipulated in Star's Hollow to convince it's denizens of soothing regularity. Luke walked backwards and as he turned around to run to the Impala, he saw Kirk turn, walk towards the demon army, and pull a belt of small holy water bombs, made from flasks, Everclear, and holy water, out from under his jacket. Kirk furiously flung the bombs at the demon army as they advanced upon him. As the Impala drove away, Luke saw the demon army tearing Kirk apart as the last of the bombs popped, dousing the entire scene in flames. And in a way, Luke was torn apart as well.

At the edge of town, Dean stopped the Impala and got out. There was no time left. It had to be now. He just hoped Bobby was waiting on the other side, like they had planned. Dean went to the bushes, fumbling around in the dark, and found the chain. He shook the chain, creating a wave that extended to the border of Star's Hollow and reality. He hooked the chain to the front of the Impala, got back in, and placed the card in neutral.

"Let's hope to God this works." Dean looked in the rear view mirror. Reality was closing behind him. Darkness crept up, and trees and light bent outwards, disappearing into the horizon. Suddenly, the Impala lurched forward, and as Star's Hollow ceased to exist any further, Bobby, driving a borrowed tow truck, pulled the Impala through the portal to the other side. Sam got out, unchained the car, and got back in. Dean peeled out, eager to put Star's Hollow behind him and forget it ever existed.

Dean stopped on the winding road overlooking the town. The inhabitants got out of the car, and breathed the sweet air of the real, true Earth. Zach and Lane gave each other quick side glances, then casually held hands. They all looked down the cliff to what used to be Star's Hollow. Where there was once that sleepy, fictional hamlet bustling with life, quirks, and characters, now stood woods. Pine trees, birds, animals, insects. But above it? The sky that was only moments ago being peeled from the sky by the hand of God now shone bright blue, ethereal and warm. The auras of lost souls and redeemed sinners rose up into the heavens, finally at peace after having succumbed to the horrors that Star's Hollow had wrought upon them. One aura in particular stopped and floated in mid air, while the aura's rose past it. It was almost as if it was looking at them.

And at that moment, whether or not it was true, it gave Luke comfort in knowing that Kirk would finally know peace in the afterlife.


End file.
